HITMAN: INVICTUS

by Zevoros

The ICA continues to shape the world from the shadows, taking in contracts and using Agent 47 and his handler, Diana Burnwood, to achieve them. All the while, the rich and powerful battle for dominance as a peril threatens to engulf them and, soon, the world as they know it.

3. Shatterproof

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~~(O)(O)(O)(O)(O)(O)(O)~~

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Authors' Notes:

Zevoros: Thanks to KingMyrddin for betaing! Special thanks to MrRieper, as per usual. And additional thanks to Kevin Coelho.

Gore warning for this chapter.

Triage: Oh you don't like walls of text? Well that's too f–king bad! Feast your eyes on this nightmare!

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Chapter 3

Shatterproof

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ICA Facility, Location Unknown

There were some days that Diana envied 47's position within the ICA. Mostly when she had a mountain of data and paperwork to address and clarify after completing a job, and then came the removal or erasure of said data. It wouldn't do to have a pile of evidence, after all.

She dearly wished she could put a hit on whoever invented the idea of dotting the i's and crossing the t's.

The SSF job alone had a stack of files a foot thick, and about twenty-five gigabytes of data.

She knew she was losing her patience when she was more interested in actually closing her eyes, when a distraction seemingly presented itself to her in the form of someone she hadn't heard from in a while. Clera.

She had politely knocked on the glass door twice before opening it. She stood at the perimeter without stepping inside.

When was the last time they had spoken? Diana tried to recall and landed on a day about a month ago. Clera had been swamped in work with her agent. She was more than a decade younger than Diana and as she looked at Clera, she could see how much Clera had aged within the span of a month. Sunken cheeks told Diana how little Clera had eaten, and dark circles beneath her eyes were at odds with her pale skin. Clera had always been a thin woman, but Diana could see how she was even thinner than before. Silky black hair flowed down her back and over her shoulders.

"Diana," said Clera in lieu of a greeting.

"Clera, come in," replied Diana, then she took in her friend's shadowed expression. "Is everything alright?"

With Diana's invitation, Clera took one of the two seats across from Diana's desk. She folded her arms over her lap, collecting herself for a moment.

"It's that bloody Agent Katz."

Ah, that would do it.

"A year and one month together," Clera said, lowering her head sadly, "did it mean anything at all?"

Diana's frown mirrored Clera's. She had an assumption of what happened to Katz. "These things happen in our line of work. It never gets easier." She stopped as she searched for her next words. Clera bunched her hair in a hand that rested against her temple. "You can't stop the sands of time. Death comes for everyone eventually."

Clera chuckled. There was an expression that crossed her features that Diana couldn't pinpoint before it was gone. "Katz is still alive."

Diana hesitated. "Oh?" She leaned back in her seat as she thought over the implications of what Clera had said. Or rather, what she hadn't said.

Clera started to raise her legs towards herself, then stopped halfway and planted them down on the floor. Her gaze grew despondent as she stared at an invisible point on Diana's desk.

"I know what the others say about me," Clera said, hopelessly. A tone of insecurity that Diana managed to pick up. "Being my agent might as well be a death sentence."

She hated to assume. But as it was, Diana had heard how others had referred to Clera behind her back.

"Did you know that they call me 'the Grim Reaper'?" Clera asked.

Diana sighed. Not even the ICA was immune to office gossip. "Ignore them," she told Clera. "Agents are hard to keep. It comes with the job."

"It's also rare to get a Max Valliant," Clera shared. She slouched further and Diana stilled.

"Katz betrayed the ICA?" Diana asked.

Clera nodded. "He did. He tried to convince me to join him, but…"

"You didn't," Diana stated. It wasn't a question, but Clera nodded again.

Diana sat back in her seat. Clera Bracken and Rome Katz had been quick to build up their effectiveness within the ICA. They had been touted as the second best. Just behind herself and 47, of course.

Max Valliant might have been before 47's time, but it had been 47 who had eliminated him. Diana clenched her eyes shut at the memory of it. What a mess, she thought.

"We can help guide our agents in the right direction, but they are the ones in the field," Diana said, looking again at Clera. "Whatever decisions they make are theirs."

"I know," Clera said. She released her hair and stood up. "But I can't help feeling like it's my fault," she added softly. "Or that it was my decisions that led Rome…that led Katz to flipping on us."

"It's not," Diana said firmly. "That is not your decision. That decision lies only in the hands of the agent. Katz chose to betray you."

Clera bit her lower lip. "Maybe…"

Diana stood and made her way to the door, shutting it. "Who else knows about Katz's betrayal?" she asked, carefully choosing her words.

"In the ICA?" Clera asked. She began to rub at her arm. "Just the Board. I reported it directly to them."

"I see. They won't be pleased," Diana warned. "Valliant's former handler was…dealt with in a dreadful way once it was found out Valliant double-crossed the ICA."

Clera's face paled. "What?" she questioned quietly.

"I'll talk to Soders," Diana told her, raising a placating hand. "If he can be convinced that you had no part in Katz's betrayal, then so will the rest of the Board."

Clera sat down and lowered her head into her hands. "Just my luck," she muttered.

Diana looked at Clera with sympathy. "Do you remember helping 47 and I regarding the Sidjans?" she asked.

Clera stiffened. "How could I forget?" she asked after a beat.

"Then consider this as me returning the favor," Diana told her. Clera looked at her, her lips becoming a line. Then she nodded as she released a breath.

"All I did was pass on some information," Clera said bashfully. She pushed a strand of hair out of her face. "I don't feel like that warrants a favor like you're making it up to be."

"Perhaps I-" Diana started, but her words were cut off when the office door opened again. She looked swiftly at the newcomer and felt the hairs on her neck stand up.

Diana had always thought that Midori Yasuda didn't look like much. Whenever she had seen Yasuda, she wore a grey suit. Her grey tie had black and red stripes in a diagonal formation. Much like Clera, Yasuda was exceptionally pale. Her skin was marred with freckles and lacked any wrinkles from smiling. She had a small nose that sat in the middle of her face and her brown eyes peered at Diana and Clera calculatingly.

"Director Yasuda," Diana greeted. She glanced at Clera's worried expression and calmly returned to her desk.

"Burnwood," Yasuda said. Then she looked at Clera. "Bracken."

Diana's eyes fell to the file in Yasuda's hand. "How might we be of service?" she asked.

"You," Yasuda said. "I have no use for…" She looked at Clera. "Defective goods."

Clera winced at the jab and she looked down at her feet. Diana frowned. Yasuda shifted her gaze towards Diana and she shut the door behind her.

"Good work on your last assignment," she complimented. "47 was as effective as always."

"The way you say that sounds as though you doubted him," Diana said, crossing one leg over the other.

Yasuda scoffed. "There is difference between rumor and fact. I have been told rumors about your agent's abilities, but I haven't seen those exploits before until now." She moved around the room without pulling her gaze from Diana.

"Hmm. Well, I'm glad we could inform you," Diana said. She pulled the files on her desk into a neat stack and pushed them slightly to the side so as to give Yasuda her undivided attention.

"If I may be so brazen, however," Yasuda said, putting one gloved hand on Diana's desk as she leaned forward, "this does not come close to covering your past transgressions."

The air in the room became tense at once. Diana met Yasuda's gaze evenly.

"The rest of the Board might have forgiven you, but I have not. I acknowledge that Travis was a loose cannon but you defied the authority of the Board," Yasuda said. She straightened up. "You tore through the ICA like a hurricane and undid the Board's perfect organization." She rolled her shoulders and Diana thought that Yasuda looked like she wished to say more, but stopped herself.

"You've been wanting to tell me that for a while, I imagine," Diana stated.

Yasuda let out a breath through her nose. "Do not play games with me, Burnwood," she warned. "You won't be forgiven again."

Diana's frown deepened. "I understand, Director Yasuda," she said.

Clera shifted uncomfortably in her seat and Yasuda looked at her as though just remembering that she was there. "I and the rest of the Board," Yasuda said and Diana privately thought that Yasuda enjoyed reminding them of her status, "came to a decision about how to deal with your former agent."

Clera picked her gaze up to meet Yasuda's. She could only hold it for mere seconds before she looked away again, trembling. "You have?" she asked nervously.

"A contract will be sanctioned against Rome Katz," Yasuda said. "All that remains now is to uncover the nebulous motivations of his handler."

"I…see…" Clera said. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. Slowly, she stood up shakily. "I'll make myself scarce," she added, shuffling to the doorway and leaving.

Diana did not like how Yasuda poleaxed her younger friend in front of a peer. It was a power move and a bid to isolate Clera.

As soon as Clera was gone, Yasuda deposited her file on Diana's desk. "Given your relative success," Yasuda began, as if 47's work was just barely considered acceptable. Another slight. "I have another job for you."

"Very well," Diana said and took the file proffered by Yasuda.

While she schooled her expression to remain as polite and neutral, inwardly, Diana felt increasingly suspicious. This was the second contract Yasuda had directly assigned to her in just a short span of time.

Such things rarely bode well for her, 47, and the ICA.

Briefly, her thoughts strayed to Victoria, who had become like a much younger sister to her. Or perhaps even something akin to a daughter.

She was worried for Victoria, but between her, 47, and herself, she was as ready as she could be for whatever challenges the world put before her.

Diana began to thumb through the file and the targets, and her eyebrows rose higher and higher.

"This…" she began, but Yasuda had already made to leave.

"See it done, Burnwood."

Yasuda's tone all but stated failure was not an option.

Inwardly fuming, Diana dropped the file on her desk and leaned back in her chair, elbows propped on the armrests and her fingers steepling together as she pondered the internal politics playing here in the ICA.

Once more, she daydreamed about restarting the ICA from the ground up.

---

Sarzine, Khandanyang

Owen Drystan observed the culling impassively. This made his third experience so far in Khandanyang. A woman screamed protestations in a non-native language. Gazing emotionlessly at her, he observed as she was dragged out of her home by a member of the Heavenly Guard, the militia attached to Sun Po and served as his primary shock troops and peacekeepers. Though the latter was very relative, given what was occurring now.

The woman was thrown to the ground, and the same soldier that had been dragging her was now pointing a rifle in her face, a simple warning to discourage any further action.

Throughout the village, the Heavenly Guard scoured the homes, pulling out the people inside and tossing them onto the streets. Many were shot quickly, ending their lives and their misery.

They were the lucky ones.

For those who were spared, a much worse fate awaited.

Moving on, Drystan and his entourage walked past another house, where several soldiers were yelling orders at what he presumed were a husband and wife. Some of the soldiers were pressing the barrels of their weapons in their faces until the wife retorted with something that infuriated the men, prompting one of them to seize the woman by her arm, prising her from her husband's protective hold.

The husband cried out, but he too was seized by another soldier and forcefully separated. The soldier yelled orders, but the man was heedless of his attacker, staring earnestly at his wife. His free arm continued reaching for her, and the soldier, his patience quickly exhausted, threw the man against a nearby wall, and raised his rifle with practiced ease, and pulled the trigger.

The body slumped to the floor in a heap, prompting an anguished scream from the woman. Wresting her arm free of the soldier's grip, she darted to her husband's side, cradling his form, and shrieked something at the men surrounding her. She stared fearlessly as one soldier raised his rifle and sent a bullet through her temple and out the other side, splattering the ground with blood and brain matter. She collapsed over her husband, like a puppet with her strings cut.

"Surely these people are mad," Drystan muttered to himself as he watched the scene.

"Why did we ever agree to this?" Carys Maddox muttered in agreement.

"Did you not ever wonder where the Khandanyangans got their slave labor," said one of their Russian accented associates. Drystan looked briefly at Genrikh Szar, the oldest and leader of those associates.

"The less we know, the less involved we are," Drystan said. "Which means you have less people breathing down your neck."

Maddox smirked. Drystan saw her glance at the other Russians that followed them. He knew that she kept a close mental catalogue of them. This wasn't their first time working with the FSB. Drystan doubted that it would be the last.

A truck drove past them, carrying more of the Heavenly Guard. They were dressed in green and brown camouflage and black flat caps, with a red outline. The brims were incredibly straight and there was a metallic Khandanyang badge in the center.

"What are they speaking?" one of the other Russian agents asked. A woman called Stasya was the voice of the question and her eyes were focused on the village as they walked through.

"It sounds German. Maybe Dutch," a different member of the entourage asked. One that they jokingly referred to as 'Apokalipsis', due to his head-to-toe uniform. Bullet-proof helmet, protective goggles with infra-red, a rebreather mask with a limited supply of oxygen, balaclava, boots, and gloves. It had been an immense headache to get the Khandanyang government to let him over the border.

"It's Khandanyangan," Drystan answered. They entered into the village square, where the trucks had stopped and soldiers had started to line up the villagers. "Or, as other people refer to it, 'Deystch'."

"Deystch? Deustch?" Mikhail asked. He was an older member of the Russian agents. Usually the quietest member. Drystan didn't think he had heard him speak more than twice.

"Deystch," Drystan repeated. His eyes landed on the fountain in the middle of the square and he narrowed his eyes. At the base was a crest. He walked forward. "A hybrid language that formed after the Germans colonized Khandanyang in the nineteenth century."

"Don't let them hear you say that," Maddox warned the Russians, turning to face them with piercing eyes. "Sun Po doesn't want people to know that."

They reached the wall of the fountain. "After the Germans lost the first World War, Japan took over colonial proceedings," Drystan told the Russians.

"And we all know how that went," Ruslan said. In the reflection of the water, Drystan could see him adjust his spectacles. He was one of the younger members of the Russian group.

"Indeed," Drystan said. He vaulted over the wall into the fountain and he heard one of the Russians make a noise of surprise. Maddox was close behind him as he made his way to the crest.

He waded through the water and heard the Russians talk among themselves. They were not as quiet as they thought they were. A fact that Drystan did not tell them of.

"This whole thing feels off," the final member of the Russian entourage said. A young woman by the name of Elena. She was the most recent inclusion to the group, after her predecessor was impaled on a trap she set off in the Amazon.

"You've been worrying since we arrived," Genrikh said. "Keep only a healthy dose of paranoia."

"We've been doing this for years," Ruslan added. "Drystan and Maddox are efficient."

"It's not them I'm skeptical about," Elena said. Drystan didn't need to look back to know how she cast a look around at the Heavenly Guard. "All of this for one artifact?"

"The Decemberist is no Janus, but he is the next closest thing," Stasya said proudly.

"Janus betrayed his country," Elena returned with a scoff.

Before any of the Russians could speak, Drystan interjected, "The nature of why your boss hired us isn't important. You are here to assist us, and so I expect your silence when we work." He looked over his shoulder at the agents as he reached the crest.

"Apologies, Dr. Drystan," Genrikh said. "Elena is new. I will reprimand her accordingly," he said, looking at Elena warningly, who hung her head.

"Thank you," Drystan said. He turned his attention back to the crest and ran his fingers along the material.

"Gold," Maddox commented. "I'm amazed the Khandanyangs haven't pulled it out yet."

"Let's be thankful that they haven't," Drystan replied. "It makes our job simpler."

Maddox didn't reply but Drystan knew that she agreed. They had worked together so long that non-verbal communication had become easy. They understood each other more than anybody else.

Drystan put his hand on the crest to feel the indents of the markings. It was a dead language, of that he had no doubt. He pulled his hand away and took his journal out, quickly flipping through the pages until he found the one he was looking for.

"Bala. As we thought," Drystan stated.

"They engraved this on a fountain in spite of not knowing the language," Maddox said. She smirked. "You're right. It does make our job easier."

"If I had to guess, a family put their crest here without knowing what it meant," Drystan told her. He stood up and Maddox copied him.

"Doctors. The preparations were made for your arrival," a new voice called out in Khandanyangan. Drystan slid his notebook away as he and Maddox faced the newcomer.

He was a bulky man with a menacing stature. Black hair on the top of his head, but shaved around the sides. He wore a military uniform unlike the rest of the Heavenly Guard, but Drystan recognized his rank immediately. But none of that was what caught his eye. That belonged to the scarring on the left side of his face, where what was once his eye was a prosthetic made of gold.

"Colonel Lhom Kwai," Drystan said.

"The Dragon Eye," Maddox added.

"Ah. I see my reputation precedes me," Kwai said. He sounded pleased. But that pleasure faded almost as soon as it appeared. "The Heavenly Leader has placed me in charge of this operation," he said.

It didn't surprise Drystan to hear that. It only made sense for Sun Po to send one of his most loyal followers. This was something deemed important enough to require collaboration between the Khandanyangs and the Russians, after all.

"Your needs will be met through me," Kwai continued. "It isn't often that the Heavenly Leader allows foreigners into his beautiful country. By the time you leave, that beauty shall remain."

"On the contrary…" Maddox stepped in. She massaged her gloved hand and she looked past Kwai at the slaves that the Khandanyangans had forced to line up. "If I may be so bold…this authority you think you have is a product of your ego."

Kwai looked mutinously at her. "We grant you access to Khandanyang and this is how you talk of the Heavenly Leader?" he questioned.

Drystan thinned his lips and he said, "You should listen to Carys. She can be quite persuasive."

Kwai glared at him and Drystan could see the tension in the faces of his Russian entourage. Their hands lingered at where he knew their weapons were.

"Thank you, Owen," Maddox complimented without taking her eyes off of Kwai. "Sometimes, I wonder about the limits of how a man can keep the affairs of his private life undisclosed from the public," she said, bringing her gloved hand to her jaw.

Kwai glared at her, but he didn't yet interrupt. He was going to allow Maddox to say her words. Drystan wondered if he considered her words in the slightest.

"It is my understanding that the Khandanyangans are intrinsically atheist. Is my understanding correct?" Maddox asked.

Kwai breathed in and his eyes narrowed in on Maddox. "Yes," he said shortly.

"Good," Maddox said. She dropped her hand to resume massaging it. "But just as every Khandanyangan, you have a shrine dedicated to Sun Po. Of course you worship him," she said, nodding to herself.

Kwai folded his arms behind his back and stood tall in front of Maddox. But she gave no sign of being intimidated by him.

"Does the Heavenly Leader know how involved you were with your traitorous family?" Maddox finally said and Kwai stiffened. His mouth opened slightly and Drystan could see a modicum of fear settle in him.

"What do you know of me?" Kwai questioned. His voice was softer than ever before. He didn't want the Heavenly Guard to hear him.

Maddox put a finger to Kwai's lips. "Shhhh. This is mere gossip that won't ever be spoken of again," she told him. "Of course, all gossip has a starting point, yes?"

Kwai swallowed. His face had gone white. "What do you want?"

"Full control of the Heavenly Guard in Sarzine," Maddox said. She smiled. "Your compliance is obliged, Colonel."

"She is persuasive, yes?" Drystan voiced.

Kwai scowled and turned towards his men. He pulled a walkie-talkie from his belt and spoke into it, "This is Colonel Kwai."

The soldiers turned in the direction of their leader to give him their utmost attention. They stood still, rifles pointed at their prisoners, their faces severe as they listened.

"From now until the end of Operation Shatterproof, you will treat the orders from Doctors Owen Drystan and Carys Maddox as though they are from my own lips."

Drystan watched as the Heavenly Guard saluted in synchronization. The left hand over the heart, and the right turned upward at the elbow, hand in a fist.

"They make it so easy," Maddox commented to him, switching back to their native tongue of English.

"Your passion for psychology again makes me question why you went into the field of archaeology," Drystan told her.

"This is far more rewarding," Maddox replied. "Pulling apart the minds of jingoistic toy soldiers will never cease to be amusing."

Drystan looked ahead to the soldiers and their line of slaves. Time to get to work.

---

47 paused for a moment as he studied the exterior of the bar, making note of the bar's name, and the adjacent shops on either side to it, and the very very few people milling or walking to and fro.

It was a quiet small town, close to the border of his intended destination and quarries.

Satisfied with his examination, he walked in, pushing the tattered, damaged door, noting it was made of extremely light balsa wood or something similar. A determined person could easily break the door down, but the foldable metal grill was a different matter.

Inside, there were only a handful of people scattered about, along with a female bartender. Virtually everyone were locals save for one of the two men seated at the bar on extreme ends.

The man he intended to meet was a Caucasian with short blond hair that was more white now with age, a sun-darkened skin, and he still wore casual fatigues American soldiers wore while at base and not on a mission.

47 quietly took a seat next to him, and stared ahead quietly.

The grizzled man sported a scar that ran along the side of his left temple, down behind the ear, neck and under the shirt, all the way to the left forearm. Shrapnel wound by the looks of it.

"So you're him then?" came the rough, yet cheerful voice.

47 turned to look at the man, but did not answer, as the question was far too vague.

"Diana said you'd be the most interesting fella I'll ever meet! Chadwick Raventale, put 'er there!"

Chadwick had turned fully to face 47 and extended his hand for a shake. 47 nodded and accepted the hand, giving a firm shake once and let go. The bartender had received an instruction with a gesture from Chadwick, and she began pouring a tiny amount of alcohol into a shot glass, then took a small bottle, and poured its translucent fluid into the glass.

"Whiskey with snake venom," Chadwick said, "packs a kick like nothing else, and also gives you immunity to snake bites round 'ere. You want one?"

He took the glass once the bartender placed it before him and downed it in one gulp.

"Mm-MM! That hits the spot all the time. Sure you don't want to try?" he asked 47 again, who merely shook his head. "Ah, your loss, buddy. Well, I was told 'bout yer destination, so if you'll follow me, the Chadmobile awaits!"

Instead of leaving through the door 47 had entered, they left through the back door, where Chadwick's vehicle, a Willys M38 jeep that had definitely seen better days since the war in the 60s, was parked. Despite his apparent age, Chadwick opted to hop over the door instead of just opening it and he looked expectantly at 47, waiting for him to get in.

As he walked around to the passenger side, Chadwick worked on starting up the jeep. The engine cranked and made many false starts.

"Come on, now, stupid," Chadwick muttered and leaned back in his chair to deliver a booted kick to the dashboard.

When he turned the keys, the jeep started up this time, and Chadwick cackled gleefully at 47 before flooring the accelerator.

They quickly left the town and the paved roads, entering more dense jungle foliage and well-travelled but rough paths, where it became painfully obvious the jeep's shock absorbers were long gone.

They eventually reached a small ramshackle hut made of uneven wooden planks and a roof composed of rusty sheet metal. Parts of the walls were made of sheet metal too, 47 noticed when he got out of the jeep and walked around.

"That is Casa Raventale," Chadwick said proudly, and he chuckled to himself as he beckoned 47 to follow him.

They walked around to a small clearing where 47 soon found out just what they'd be using to get into Khandanyang.

A Bell UH-1 Huey helicopter.

Noting how rusty the rotors and most of the helicopter's hull was, 47 internally questioned if it would even get airborne at this point.

"I know it don't look like much, but I promise ya, Betsy will get ya where ya need!" Chadwick proudly said.

He strode forward and yanked open the rear passenger door, startling the nearest hen and causing a ruckus amongst the other chickens now roosting inside.

One of them had built a nest on the chair.

"Don't mind the smell," Chadwick said, "once I get 'er up in the air, fresh air'll clean it all out."

He slapped a wooden crate on the floor and looked at 47. "Care for any party favors on your way in?"

He lifted the cover of the crate and revealed an old but still workable (probably) rocket launcher. The small family of mice that leapt out and out of the helicopter had 47 thinking the interior of the weapon was more ruined than anything else at this point.

"I have what I need," 47 replied.

"He speaks!" Chadwick exclaimed happily. "Well, suit yourself. Right, so, recap time; Khandanyang can't patrol every inch of the jungle borders, and I know their schedules, more or less. The path we're takin' is one of the densest, mosquito-ridden, snake-infested, rat-eaten piece of hell you'll ever see, and don't try to drink water from any of the ponds you see, yeah? It's made mostly of piss and shit."

He cackled again.

"I ain't got mosta the details, my job's to get you across alive, and that, I can do. Gimme about fifteen minutes, and you'll be where you need to be, no need to pack yer passport!"

To his credit, Chadwick was most punctual, and he had the helicopter fueled, demoused and the chickens driven out in under fifteen minutes.

Whether the helicopter would even start, was another question entirely.

47 sat himself in the rear passenger chair, and watched as Chadwick clambered into the pilot's chair, did some quick pre-flight checks, and started running the engine.

Like with his jeep, he had to apply a generous violent kick to get the vehicle cooperating, but it actually did seem to work. 47 grudgingly acknowledged Chadwick's ability to keep such aged vehicles functioning despite an apparent lack of maintenance.

They were soon airborne.

"Here we go!" Chadwick announced and steered the helicopter northwards.

After almost half an hour of travelling, Chadwick began speaking again.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Khandanyang air space! If you'll look to your left, you'll see the Verhofnung Jungle. And if you look to your right, you'll see the rest of the Verhofnung Jungle!"

He chuckled merrily to himself. "Mind your step and keep hold of anything you don't want to lose. You drop it, don't bother picking it back up, assumin' you can still see it."

They approached a small clearing free of trees, but full of foliage and thick, tall grass.

Chadwick feathered the descent, bringing the aged helicopter down with surprising gentleness, he looked back at 47 and nodded at him.

"Don't know what you're gonna do this part o' hell, but tell Diana hi for me, yeah? And good luck, buddy!"

Nodding at Chadwick, 47 hopped out and began trekking north and west at a brisk jog, wary of telltale signs of wildlife and bogs.

Behind him, Chadwick began to ascend, the sound of the helicopter's rotors quickly fading into the distance.

"Good afternoon, 47," Diana said through 47's earpiece. "Your destination is Sarzine, the relatively uncharted province within Khandanyang's borders. Three days ago, Khandanyang's military elite, the Heavenly Guard, arrived in Sarzine and proceeded to round up the village population. Whether for execution or to…induct into their labor force.

"Your targets are archaeologists Owen Drystan and Carys Maddox, world renowned for their finds, and equally criticized for their destructive methodology. After meeting during a find in South Africa, the duo formed a strong partnership and have since become nearly inseparable.

"After growing pleased by his finds, Owen Drystan, a brilliant Stanford graduate, was contracted by the American government for further archaeological finds. To those in the echelon of power, it didn't matter if Drystan was frequently referred to as a 'disgrace to the profession' by fellow archaeologists.

"However, Drystan soon became dissatisfied with his payment and turned to more…lucrative ways of being paid. After being contacted by a German entrepreneur, Drystan utilized his connections with the American History Museum to smuggle ancient artifacts out of America and to their buyers.

"It was only a matter of time before he was caught.

"President Clyde Rice, feeling personally betrayed, requested the unusual punishment of deportation in the hope that Drystan would never set foot in the United States again.

"He has little caution for the cultural significance of the sights that he disturbs. Instead, he cares only for how he can sell the artifacts he finds to either his clients, or to the highest bidder.

"Ejected from his home, Drystan traveled across the world for archaeological finds, where he met Carys Maddox. An Oxford graduate who, according to campus counselors, was an emotionally unstable woman with a penchant for psychology. It was a shock when she went into what was perceived as a dead-end field of archaeology.

"An armchair psychoanalyst, Maddox enjoys dissecting a person's psyche and, should she find a reason to, attempt to break it. Whether an ally to herself and Drystan or not, she makes a game out of the mental torture she can inflict on a person.

"According to intel, when questioned on her unwavering loyalty to Drystan during an archaeological dig in Siberia, Maddox tore apart the mind of a member of her entourage. She sent him running into the desolate land of Siberia, and the frozen remains were found days later by civilians traveling through the area.

"When the director of the FSB, known colloquially by his codename of 'The Decembrist', contacted them, it began a fruitful partnership. With connections to both the FSB and Khandanyang government, Drystan provides the primary point of contact with clients and outside sources. Whether those clients are responsible for the cruelties of the Heavenly Guard is of little concern to either him or Maddox.

"In addition to eliminating the targets, our client - who has asked to remain anonymous - requested that you obtain the artifact being sought after by Drystan and Maddox. A crown allegedly worn by the first king of Khandanyang.

"Be careful, 47. Khandanyang is not a country that treats outsiders well. Good luck."

47 stared in the direction that he knew the village was in. Chadwick had dropped him off at least twenty miles off. Without hesitation, he broke out into a sprint.

He had packed lightly, as usual. Unlike his missions in Cranborne and Seoul, he could bring his chosen materials with him. His Silverballer was tucked away, just as his fibre wire was. The coins in his pocket made no sound as he sprinted through the jungle.

Chadwick had been correct. He avoided stepping on any snakes that he passed, and swatted away any stray mosquitos that flew too close.

47's mind strayed to Victoria as he sprinted. This mission had reminded him of her. Her dreams of becoming an archaeologist of her own one day. It made him satisfied to know that, using her own free will, she turned away from the life that she was created for.

Victoria had been given a choice. Which was more than what could be said for himself. His thoughts grew darker as he thought of Otto Wolfgang Ort-Meyer. The man who gave 47 no choice in life. It wasn't often that 47 thought back on his life. Much less the people he had killed. But Ort-Meyer? That was one he could never forget.

"47?" Diana said suddenly.

"Yes?" he asked in return, without a hint of being winded.

"I feel the need to explain some of the internal politics at play here," she confessed to him with a sigh. "I know you don't care for them, but I wouldn't bring this up if it wasn't important."

"I'm listening," 47 told her. He knew Diana well enough that this kind of communication in the middle of a mission was out of character for her. She didn't like to have him think of other matters during an assignment. Even if 47 knew the risk of something going wrong because of it was minute.

"One of the Board members cornered me in my office to force this contract onto me. For whatever reason, it's important to them."

"Midori Yasuda," 47 deduced. He could practically hear Diana's smile through the earpiece. "So soon after Seoul?"

"My thoughts exactly," Diana agreed. "It isn't unusual for the more…corrupt members of the Board to utilize the ICA for their own personal benefit. Never quite breaking our neutrality, but getting quite close to the line."

"I don't see the connection," 47 said. He didn't see it between Yasuda and SSF, or Yasuda and the archaeologists.

"Neither do I," Diana admitted. "I'm going to do some digging of my own when I have the time. The ICA is not a tool to use for personal desires."

47 didn't make a sound as he thought Diana's words over. Midori Yasuda had specifically had Diana and him perform the assignment in Seoul. So swiftly forcing them to perform another contract for her in a short amount of time was nothing if not suspicious. 47 had seen his share of coincidences over the years, from one assignment to the next. If there was a coincidence between contracts…it probably wasn't.

"You think there's more to it," 47 said.

"I do," Diana said. "But for now, it's nothing more than a hunch. I'll do my due diligence."

"As always."

"Quite right." Now, 47 could hear her smile grow into a smirk.

The rest of 47's trek was in silence. He carefully avoided any spots of mud on the ground as he went, avoiding leaving any footprints for potential patrols to follow.

The jungle was vast. The trees were nearly impenetrable. It was only the lack of sound of anyone else that 47 knew nobody was nearby. After almost an hour of travelling, 47 came to a stop in front of a rock face. It stood tall in front of him. A tower of stone and moss. It was not a mountain, far from it, but 47 estimated that it would take an hour, perhaps longer, to reach the top. He scanned for footholds and ways to climb.

Halfway up, he spotted an opening. A cave. With a glance left and right, 47 saw how the rock stretched on for miles and miles in either direction. Up would be his only way into the village.

Without wasting any more time, 47 placed his foot in an indent in the rock, and hauled himself upward. His hands found holes to anchor himself, allowing him easier access to pull himself closer to the cave.

47 glanced back briefly to see the endless rows of trees and nature that he left behind. He repeated his actions over and over again. Wedge. Anchor. Pull. Wedge. Anchor. Pull.

He found a quick rhythm, his actions almost machine-like in their efficiency as he climbed. His hands and feet found their place in the stone as he pushed himself upward, further and further away from the ground below.

Finally, he reached the cave entrance and he hauled himself up into it.

The cave was less dark than he had anticipated. But from the cobwebs all throughout, it was evident that nobody had been through it for a long time. 47 adjusted his tie and entered.

He crept forward, putting his hand on a thick cobweb that he ripped through. He continued on without breaking his pace, passing by the skeletal remains of someone long dead.

"Nobody has disturbed this place for years," 47 said. He shook his hand free of the cobweb stuck to his hand.

"It does not seem like it," Diana agreed.

47 returned to silence, stepping over fallen rock as he approached the exit. There was a giant opening that let the light in and he crouched lowly as he reached it.

"Excellent work, 47," Diana said as the outside came into view. "You made it."

47 looked over the village from his vantage point, taking in each detail he could in the time he had. Directly in front of him was a steep slope that led to the road, where he could see older trucks parked all along the street. They looked like they were manufactured in the 70s or 80s. None of the vehicles were any newer.

All across the village, 47 could see Khandanyang banners hanging from buildings. The circular symbol of the Po regime planted in the center against a red background. Each building was old and made from stone and painted a tan color. Across the top, he could see the soldiers of the Heavenly Guard patrol on the roofs, keeping a close eye on proceedings from above.

Then, there was the distant sound of construction equipment, fighting to overcome the sound of the man talking on the loudspeaker. It was a language that 47 heard some familiarity in, yet also differences in.

47 glanced downward at the bottom of the slope where two members of the Heavenly Guard walked past the base, talking to each other in low tones.

He put his foot on the slope and leaned forward. A few moments after the two guards passed the base, 47 slipped forward. He planted his feet against the loose gravel and dirt and slid down, down, down.

He quickly threw himself back, planting his hand behind him as he went, and rolled quickly past the guards the very second he touched the bottom. The sound of the fallen gravel caused the guards to turn in the direction of the slope.

"What was that?" one of them questioned.

"I'm not sure," the second said. He examined the slope and readied his rifle.

Neither of them noticed 47 slink away into the village.

---

"It is the Heavenly Leader's, and by extension, my understanding, that by obtaining this relic, Khandanyang will prosper," Colonel Kwai told Drystan as they walked down the street of the village.

Drystan was followed closely not only by Kwai, but by soldiers as well. He watched as all around him, soldiers came out of houses with bags of jewelry and other forms of valuables. The sounds of machinery in the distance met his ears as an excavator tore apart the ground.

"That is the theory, yes," Drystan said. He didn't believe it in the slightest. "But my work does not concern the pleasure of the Heavenly Leader, I am sad to say. What concerns me is my employer receiving the relic. What happens after that is up to him."

Kwai sniffed distastefully. "As you say, Doctor," he said. "I will have my men accompany you," he added.

Drystan looked at him. "And cause an international incident? No. I will not be swarmed by a crowd of Heavenly Guard. It's bad enough that I stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the FSB."

Kwai sniffed again. "This is why I am vehemently opposed to having a man with American eyes on our soil, digging up Khandanyang culture."

Drystan stopped in place to look at Kwai. But before he could speak, the sound of commotion ahead of him drew his attention. A soldier dragged a slave out from behind a corner and threw him to the ground.

The slave shouted in a language Drystan didn't understand and he pushed himself across the ground to the wall as the soldier stepped forward, yanking their rifle up at him.

"What is this?" Drystan questioned, and the soldier stopped in place. "Why is this man not with the rest of the labor force?"

"He was tiring out, sir!" the soldier said, stepping back and falling into position.

"So you throw away a perfectly usable resource?" Drystan asked. The use of forced labor was something he greatly disapproved of. He turned to Kwai. "It's savage. Barbaric.. I do not approve of your methods."

The slave drove his hand into his pocket and produced a sharp rock, pointing it fearfully at Drystan, who took a slow, deliberate step back.

"Savage?" Kwai repeated. "These people are barbarians. They survive only this long from the will and mercy of the Heavenly Leader." He straightened his back. "The Heavenly Leader personally ordered me to end the problem that these savages exhibit."

Drystan's face fell into neutrality and he turned to look back at the slave, who looked from him to Kwai and back again. "Why was I not informed of this?"

For the first time, Kwai's gaze became smug. "The Heavenly Leader knew that your American sensibilities would not allow you to see our methods objectively."

Drystan looked one more time at the slave, then back at Kwai. "I expect to be kept informed on matters such as this. You can expect any arrangements I have with Khandanyang to be finished when this operation is through."

Kwai's smug grin disappeared. Drystan thought he looked troubled by the news. But if the Khandanyangs were not forthcoming, then Drystan had no reason to keep sticking his neck out for them. It had already been a troublesome arrangement.

"Do what you will," he said at last. "But I will not have any of this traced back to me," he said as he turned around and resumed his pace towards the center of the dig site.

He didn't look back as he heard Kwai unholster his pistol and fire a single shot. Nor did he look back as he heard the sound of the corpse slide to the ground.

"Do whatever you want with the villagers," Drystan ordered as he went. "If you find any valuables, return them to my camp; they're not yours." He looked upward at one of the buildings just in time to see a man in a white fedora disappear from sight. "It can't be…" Drystan muttered to himself.

"Doctor?" Kwai asked.

Drystan felt his lip curl downward. "I need men to comb the perimeter from the corner of the village. Work your way in. Double- no, triple check for any intruders!"

He didn't notice that he was being watched by 47 from around the corner of one of the buildings.

Drystan was a redheaded man with large swaths of white in his hair. Green eyes sat in a somewhat round face, and he looked like he had recently shaved. He wore a black fur coat with a red interior over a grey and black pinstripe suit, with a crimson bow-tie hugging his neck. His boots rose to just below his knees, covering most of his black-grey pinstripe pants.

"That is Owen Drystan," Diana told 47. "Famed archaeologist turned artifact smuggler. He is the brains to Maddox's brawn. And if he's here, she won't be far behind."

Drystan changed course. He walked past the intersection that would take him back to the center of the dig site and he went in the direction of one of the buildings instead.

It was only a matter of time before someone looked 47's way, he knew. He maneuvered himself back behind the wall and looked at the nearby window. He pressed his hand against it to test if it would open, and 47 was unsurprised when it didn't budge. He moved low across the wall until he stopped at a drainage pipe connected to the second floor, where 47 spotted an open window.

47 took a quick glance at his surroundings and waited for the nearest grouping of soldiers to put their backs to him. When they did, he put his foot on the point where the pipe was welded together, and put his hands on the pieces that stuck out. Without skipping a beat, he leveraged himself up and swiftly began to climb.

In mere seconds, he reached the window ledge. His legs dangled over the ground below and 47 used his strength to haul himself up and vault through the open window.

His feet met carpet and 47 quickly scanned the bedroom. It was fairly sparse, with a two-person bed filling most of the small room. A dressing table, a drawer and a wardrobe cupboard standing against the nearby wall. There was a painting of Sun Po with broken glass over the image.

The sound of a door splintering below him spurred 47 into action. He went to the wardrobe and opened it. Quickly, he pushed the items to one side and he stepped inside. He let the doors shut, but held his hand out so that they didn't close completely, leaving a crack that he could look through.

With the doors nearly shut, 47 spied through the slim opening as three sets of footsteps hurried up the stairs into the room. The door was suddenly thrown off its hinges as two men entered the room. Both of them in the attire of the Heavenly Guard. They waved their rifles around as they walked around the room, almost silently clearing it as they went.

One of them opened the door next to the bed and peaked his head inside, then walked away, seemingly satisfied.

When the two Khandanyangan soldiers spoke, it took 47 a moment to translate their speech. His familiarity with German provided a foundation for him to go off of.

"Clear!" one of the soldiers said and both of them relaxed, pointing their weapons downward.

47's eyes flicked to the entrance to the room as a third man entered. One decked top to bottom in black, and showed not a speck of skin. When he spoke, though, 47 knew that he wasn't a member of the Heavenly Guard.

"Find anything?" he asked with a Russian accent, slightly muffled by his mask, and in German.

"No, sir!" the soldiers responded simultaneously in Khandanyangan.

The Russian nodded and walked around the room. The two soldiers relaxed even further.

"I don't see the point in checking everything again," one of the soldiers said as he dropped to his knees and glanced beneath the bed.

"Colonel Kwai gave us his orders," the other reminded him. "What the Doctor says goes."

The first soldier harrumphed. "Taking orders from a man with no military experience. An American no less!" he spat derisively.

"I'm not very happy about it either," the second man said, and his expression told 47 that that was an understatement. His face had twisted up as though he had bitten into a lemon.

The two fell into silence as the Russian went to the stairs in the corner of the room and ascended. The soldiers, however, remained in place.

"Disgusting," one of them said, eyeing the shattered picture of Sun Po. "These people have no idea how good they have it. They deserve any punishment that the Heavenly Leader can deliver upon them."

"I have a few ideas," the second said with a dark grin. "Dropping a planeload of chemicals here should get rid of them. Have you heard of lewisite?"

"Can't say I have," the first said. He cocked his head to the side and looked at his partner.

"The Heavenly Leader himself created it," the second bragged. "It's a beautiful piece of work. If someone even breathes it in, they're going to burn from the inside out!"

"Incredible!" the first said. "I can imagine what that can do to the human body, huh."

The second snickered. "The Heavenly Leader manufactured it and used it to help kick the Japanese out of our glorious country. They stood no chance."

"Ahhh, is that what that was? In the history books? I remember seeing pictures of the Heavenly Leader charging through the battlefield." He let out a sigh of reminiscence.

"That's why it makes me so angry to be working for an American," the second man spat furiously. "After everything the Heavenly Leader fought for…after he single-handedly pushed the Americans out of our glorious country, we work under one of them!?"

"Better than the Chinese," the first man said, just as furiously.

The second sniffed. "It isn't my place to question the judgement of the Heavenly Leader," he said as he looked with awe at the broken picture of Sun Po, "but I know we could liberate the Chinese."

"The Heavenly Leader is biding his time," the first man said. "He knows that the world trembles before his might." He chuckled. "They won't stand a chance."

The Russian man returned to the room and the two Khandanyangan men fell silent. "The roof is clear," he told them, once again in German. If he noticed the looks of distaste flash across the soldiers' faces, he didn't say anything.

The group started to depart when the Russian hesitated in front of a wooden chest at the base of the bed. He looked at it, then looked at the two soldiers.

"Has anyone looked through this yet?" he asked.

One of the soldiers stepped forward and crouched down in front of the chest. "No," he said, putting his hands on it.

"You are to take its contents to the archaeologists' camp," the Russian told them as the two soldiers stepped in front of him to the chest.

"Yes, sir," they both said simultaneously, distastefully.

One of the soldiers found a latch and fiddled with it until it came undone. "No one will know if we take something for ourselves," he whispered to his friend.

The other soldier grinned as he undid the other latch. Together, they grasped the chest and pushed it open.

47 could barely see the events unfold in front of him. But the moment the chest opened, he had a split second to see a rat trap activate, and the hammer pin slam down on a shotgun pellet.

The soldiers in front of the chest had no time to react before they were blown apart in the sudden blast.

The Russian soldier's survival was only by virtue of the two men in front of him taking the brunt of the pellets, but nevertheless, due to the proximity, his upper body was peppered significantly, and the force of the blast sent him flying back, slamming his head against the wall, before slumping to the ground unconscious.

47 took a moment and blinked at the chain of events that unfolded.

"That...was remarkably convenient," Diana said, "with all the noise of the work outside, no one would have even heard the noise of the shotgun shell discharging."

The two Heavenly Guard troopers were a gory mess before the chest, and their uniforms were beyond salvaging. Not that they'd fit him anyhow, given their shorter statures.

But the Russian…

After a few minutes of complete silence, and no apparent signs of aid coming in, 47 emerged from his hiding place and examined the Russian soldier. There was a bit of blood spatter from the two soldiers, and slight damage on his uniform, but most of the holes were small enough that they could be concealed with a little rearrangement of the equipment that were attached to the velcro.

Keeping his ears out for any sound of approach, he quickly got to work, checking the man's pulse with two fingers to the neck. He was still alive, but mercifully unconscious. The limited amount of bleeding suggested that most of his injuries were superficial, which he could confirm once he had stripped the man out of his entire outfit.

While advantageous in that it would fully conceal him, it also meant he had to take more time getting the man out of his clothing and armor. Then he had to redress himself. Fortunately, he did not have to change out of his own clothes given the bulky and loose fit of the uniform.

The Russian groaned slightly, but did not stir after that.

Fully dressed and covered, 47 dragged the injured man into the wardrobe that he had previously hidden in. If the Heavenly Guard were to find him, his injuries weren't severe enough to require immediate medical attention. By the time he was done with this job, the others would come across him and the two bodies soon enough.

He would have to be careful in how he approached things from here on in. With the knowledge that at least one item was trapped for the soldiers, there was no reason to expect that others weren't. He would have to move carefully.

Now armed with a rifle, he had some options open to him on how to dispatch Drystan and Maddox.

He left the house through the back door.

No sooner had he exited did he become aware of a commotion that seemed to be growing in fervor and excitement.

Moving around the house, 47 found a number of the Heavenly Guard and one of the FSB accosting a Caucasian man, holding his arms behind him, and pushing him forward, towards Drystan. He was dressed in a white fedora and coat, over a white vest with a scarf wrapped around his neck. Sunglasses were perched on his nose as he stumbled along, staining the bottoms of his white slacks.

Even from a distance, 47 was able to hear Drystan and the captured man.

"Nathaniel," Drystan said, and 47 thought he detected a tone of surprise in his voice. "I never thought I'd see you again.

"Hello, disgrace," spat the captive.

"A disgrace, you say?" Drystan replied, "But I'm not the one caught and at my mercy, am I? Actually, I should say, her mercy."

47 slowly made his way over, just as Drystan leaned closer to stage-whisper to Nathaniel, "And believe me, she has none."

---

Elena peeked out of a gap in the tent to watch the goings on of the forced labor. The Khandanyangans watched from a slight distance, their rifles in hand as they patrolled. There were only a few among the crowd.

They had torn up the fountain to get beneath it. The Khandanyangans had turned off the water to stop the pipes from bursting as the members of the labor force took it apart in order to dig beneath it. Structural engineers helped guide them to make sure they didn't accidentally bring down the entire village.

Whatever they were after seemed to be under the village.

Elena shook her head in disgust. These people were vile. No respectful people used damn slaves! But for now, she held her tongue and kept a hand on her sidearm. The way that the soldiers looked at her set her on edge.

She had to distract herself. If she didn't, she would go crazy. Further in the tent, Genrikh talked to Maddox. About what, Elena didn't know. But it made her nervous. She had been briefed on Drystan and Maddox and if Drystan was kicked out of his own country…if he had no loyalty to his country, then how was he to be trusted?

"Elena?" Ruslan asked and Elena half-turned to look at him while keeping her gaze on the dig site.

"Ruslan," Elena greeted.

"Your paranoia is making me nervous," he told her. "There is no point in watching the dig site until we get to what's underneath."

Elena crossed her arms. "I don't trust the Khandanyangans," she told him. "For all we know, they could discard us as soon as Dr. Drystan and Dr. Maddox have the crown."

"That's the risk with these operations," Ruslan said. "But the Decembrist will have prepared for that. I wouldn't be surprised if he has agents prepared to breach Khandanyang's borders if he doesn't hear back from Genrikh every so often."

Elena resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Ruslan had too much faith in the Decembrist. She hadn't been with the group long, but she had grasped the dynamics fairly easily. And so it didn't take her long to know that Ruslan worshipped the ground that the Decembrist walked on.

But there was information that she didn't know. Something that they talked around.

"What happened in the Amazon?" she asked Ruslan.

Ruslan scoffed. "What didn't go wrong?" he asked aloud. "Alonya thought that she was capable after she picked some things up from Doctors Drystan and Maddox." He looked at Elena. "She did not. She set off a trap and was impaled on a spike."

Elena winced. She had been given a very brief rundown on what happened to her predecessor. The details were passed over. Likely to ensure that she didn't panic when she was added to the group.

"Sounds like a painful way to go," Elena said, looking back out at the dig site as she said it.

"Very," Ruslan agreed. "Ironically, I prefer that to this."

"Why?"

"We didn't have the Brazilians keeping an eye on us," Ruslan said with a smirk.

Elena considered his words before she carefully said, "Do you trust Drystan and Maddox?"

Ruslan narrowed his eyes at her. "I trust the Decembrist," he said.

And if he trusts them, then so do you, Elena thought scornfully. "You don't think it's suspicious?" she pressed. "Why would your home country deport you for smuggling artifacts?" she questioned.

"I don't know American law," Ruslan frowned. "Their leader made a big thing out of it."

Elena nodded. She remembered. It was funny, at the time. "I know you trust the Decembrist," she started and Ruslan stared at her warningly. "But do you yourself trust Doctors Drystan and Maddox? What if that story of the artifact smuggling is a facade for the CIA to wiggle an operative in-"

"I'm only going to tell you this once, and if you continue, I will tell Genrikh," Ruslan interrupted harshly. "You do not understand what our group is or what it is meant to achieve. You cannot be blamed for that. But drop these ideas from your head right now. They're almost treasonous."

Elena hung her head. Ruslan sighed.

"I am going to forget everything you have said. If you speak another word of this, I will tell Genrikh and you will be lucky if the Decembrist doesn't block you from ever advancing within the FSB."

Elena didn't look up. She didn't want Ruslan to see the fury that burned behind her eyes. When he stepped away, she looked back out of the tent at the dig site. She blinked when she saw Stasya forcefully guiding a man who was definitely of Caucasian descent. Behind her by a few paces was Apokalipsis.

"Genrikh?" Elena called and when she turned her head, she saw Genrikh look up from whatever he was doing. "Stasya and Apokalipsis is here. And they've brought someone."

Genrikh frowned, then disappeared into the room at the back of the tent. When he emerged, it was with Maddox. She approached the front of the tent just in time for Stasya and Apokalipsis to enter with the man.

Elena saw Maddox gaze at the man in surprise. She looked briefly at Stasya and Apokalipsis. "You're much too kind," Maddox said, "and it's not even my birthday."

The man glared at her from behind his spectacles. "Maddox. Nice to see you're still Drystan's lapdog."

"Who is this?" Elena asked.

"Blake Nathaniel," Maddox answered. She seemed totally unaffected by Nathaniel's words. "Bring him to my quarters."

"Right away, Dr. Maddox," Stasya said, and she shoved Nathaniel forward.

Elena had more questions, but again she held her tongue. Just like Drystan, she read up on Maddox. It did not sound like she was someone that she wanted to interfere with.

"Where is Owen?" Maddox asked Apokalipsis.

"He's coordinating with the dig site staff," Apokalipsis told her.

Elena cocked an eyebrow at Apokalipsis. His voice, though muffled as it always was…sounded slightly different than usual.

"He's given me quite the gift," Maddox said with a grin. "I shall have to return one to him soon," she added. Without another word, she spun on her heel and walked towards the back room of the tent.

Elena watched Apokalipsis follow after her, then shook her head. Perhaps Ruslan was right. She was being too paranoid.

There was no way for her to hear the earpiece come to life in 47's earpiece as he followed Maddox. She was a slim woman with long, straight black hair that ended at the middle of her back, with bangs that hung about an inch above her eyebrows. Her expression held an almost innocent nature to her, but her dark brown, analytical eyes gave her away. Her skin held only slightly more color than Drystan's, and she wore tan slacks and, just like Drystan, wore black boots that rose to just below her knees. Her upper-half was dressed in a tan vest over a white undershirt that went all the way to her wrists. Her right hand was covered by a black glove.

"That is Carys Maddox," Diana introduced to 47. "Brilliant psychoanalyst and utterly sociopathic. She is the brawn to Drystan's brains."

47 followed Maddox into the next tent. Unlike the previous one, this one was made to keep the light out. There were two chairs in the middle of the room and in the one furthest from the door was Blake Nathaniel, arms tied around the back of the chair.

While the chair that Nathaniel was in was made of metal, the one that Maddox sat in one of rotted wood. 47 stood by the entrance, while another Russian, one that he overheard being called Ruslan, stood on the other side. Closest to Maddox was an older man with his hair greying at the temples.

"Blake," Maddox said, crossing one leg over the other. She took her gloved hand into her palm, beginning to massage it. "What are you doing here in Khandanyang?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Nathaniel said without skipping a beat. "Utilizing slaves to accomplish your goal? That's low, even for you."

"I think the Khandanyangans prefer the term 'forced labor'," Maddox said softly. "What led you here, I wonder? Have you been chasing the same artifacts that Owen and I are after?"

Nathaniel scoffed. "You think our chance encounter in the Amazon was a coincidence?"

"No. But I would like to confirm my suspicions," Maddox said.

"I'll confirm more of them if you tell me who you sold the sceptre to," Nathaniel said, pushing himself up as far as he could in his chair.

Beside 47, he could see Ruslan's shoulder's tense. The older Russian agent glared at Nathaniel, who glanced at him briefly, before returning his gaze to Maddox.

Maddox's expression gave nothing away. Instead of answering his question, she asked, "Tell me, we won't happen to find Washington anywhere, will we?"

A look of fury crossed Nathaniel's features. He suddenly struggled against the binds that held him. "Sophia isn't here! I came alone!"

The elder Russian agents stepped forward and slammed his fist into Nathaniel's gut. He sputtered and coughed at the blow, doubling over as he went slack in the chair.

"So you abandoned her," Maddox surmised.

"Fuck…you…" Nathaniel gasped for breath.

"Are we already resulting to petty insults?" Maddox questioned. "I thought we were past this."

"What…you're doing here…" Nathaniel said slowly as he inhaled, "is destroying history!"

"Destroy? Don't be absurd!" Maddox shook her head. "We're not destroying it. We're…reinvigorating it."

"Call it what you like, Maddox."

"If Sophia isn't here, then she must be somewhere nearby. Yes?" Maddox questioned. Nathaniel fell silent. "No, you wouldn't want to risk her exposure in Khandanyang. You must have left her across the border."

"Want me to take you?" Nathaniel asked, full of venom. "Untie me and I'll show you."

"What are you running away from?" Maddox asked and Nathaniel gaped at her. "Someone is always running away from something. It can't be from wanting to be a parent. Sophia is too ambitious to ever want to settle down. So it must be your family."

Nathaniel didn't say a word for a long moment. Then, finally, he said, "You don't know anything abo-"

"I've struck a nerve." Maddox smirked. "Let me narrow it down. Your mother? No, I don't think so. You never struck me as a mother's boy. But your father? Oh, that I could see."

Nathaniel scoffed. "You're grasping at straws."

But Maddox was undeterred. "What kind of father did you have, Blake? The kind of one that beat the submission out? Perhaps that's why you turned to archaeology. To get away from home and the beatings that came with it."

Nathaniel shook his head. "No. Sorry, you're far off."

But 47 could see in Nathaniel's expression that she wasn't. He turned away to go back through the door, leaving Maddox behind.

The tent was exactly what one could expect from an archaeologist expedition. Maps on boards, with numerous notes and scattered and connected to them. 47 glimpsed a map on a table of the potential layout of a temple. Desks and crates had been moved throughout the tent. No doubt that the majority of it was the work stations of Drystan and Maddox.

The only guards in the tent were the Russians. One at the entrance, the one called Stasya in a chair with her legs up on a table. Ruslan and the elder man were in the next tent over with Maddox and Nathaniel. None of them paid 47 a second glance.

47 went to one of the furthest desks away, tucked into a corner, and out of sight from the Russian agents. He quickly scanned over the contents on the desk for anything useful. But the only thing to catch his eye was a letter opener, which he grabbed and then he quickly moved on. He quickly opened one of the drawers and pulled out a folded piece of paper, torn out of a book.

He unfolded it to find an image of what he supposed was the first king of Khandanyang, a crown sat on his head. All around him, the people bowed. And those that weren't were vaporized.

"Interesting," Diana commented. "It seems that whoever wants this crown believes it possesses mystical properties."

"He is holding a sceptre," 47 said. His eyes went to the staff in the king's hand, lit up by a ray from the sun.

"So he is," Diana agreed.

The sound of approaching footsteps made 47 drop the page as he turned around. He left the corner of the tent to see Drystan enter.

"Dr. Drystan," the Russian at the tent entrance said to him as he entered, "Dr. Maddox is dealing with your special guest."

"Yes," Drystan replied dryly, "I do hope she doesn't mulch his brains completely before we get anything useful out of him."

"Da," said the Russian, "it would be a shame."

Drystan made a non-committal sound in response then continued onwards.

"Just another day in Khandanyang…" Drystan half-sang to himself as he thumbed through some pages on the very desk 47 had been reading. His fingers lingered over the page that 47 had left out. "Has any other intruders been found?" he asked without looking away.

"Nyet," one of the Russians said. "But Khandanyang is combing through the village, as per your order."

Drystan folded the page away and tucked it back into a drawer on his desk. "Next time one of you goes through my things, put the papers back where you found them," he said as he turned around. "Otherwise they'll blow away. Makes a mess."

None of the Russians spoke a word. 47 flicked his gaze to the entrance to the back of the room, where Maddox, Ruslan, and the older Russian agent exited. Maddox massaged her gloved hand and smiled slightly at the sight of Drystan.

"Owen," she greeted. "Blake is sitting in the next room," she told him.

"Has he said anything useful?" Drystan asked.

"Sophia was left behind," Maddox said, her smile turning into a grin. "Unless she is insane enough to try to cross the border, she won't be a problem."

Drystan nodded. "For once he has chosen the sensible option." He turned back to his desk and Maddox joined his side. "We should be done here by nightfall," he told her. "Maybe even earlier."

"Which means we will be on a plane to Moscow by tomorrow," Maddox said.

The Russians perked up at that.

"And after that, it's back to America," Drystan said with a smile. "Home. At long last. I can taste it, Carys."

"How?" one of the Russians asked. She furrowed her brow in confusion and suspicion. "You were deported, were you not?"

Drystan frowned. He turned back around to face the Russian. "I was. But America will soon see the mistake they've made," he told her. "But that won't be the case for long. Do you think I am having each house in this village raided for fun?" he asked.

The Russian hesitated. "The wealth that the valuables provide-"

"Will pay off any debt that you or the Khandanyang government owe me," Drystan said. He stepped away from his desk as he slipped his hands into his pockets. "And with that money, President Rice will be forced to take the bribe and sign me a little…presidential pardon."

The Russian didn't look convinced. "And that will be enough for you to be allowed back into the country?" she asked, skeptically.

Drystan pursed his lips. "Even at the time it was considered a strange and unusual punishment. I imagine there will be some push back, but it doesn't matter. Rice will sign the pardon and there will be little the courts can do about it."

"A true national treasure," the Russian said sarcastically. "What happens when the Americans get wind of what happened here?"

"Elena!" another Russian shouted in disbelief.

Drystan's features fell into neutrality and Maddox stared at her, her fingers dropped to her waist. It was an action that Elena noticed and she narrowed her eyes.

"That is something I would expect from Nathaniel, not from one of my subordinates," Drystan said. Without another word, he reached into his coat pocket and produced a revolver.

Elena unholstered her pistol and pointed it at Drystan. Maddox was just as quick on the draw and unholstered a pistol of her own, pointing it squarely at Elena.

The Russians produced their weapons, pointing them at Elena. She grimaced, but kept her hand steady. "You talk like it isn't hard to sneak across," she said, her voice full of suspicion.

"But I'd never be able to have my own life back," Drystan sneered at her. "If you talk, you'll ruin everything!"

"You're lying!" Elena said back. She looked at her compatriots. "I know you are! I thought from the beginning that your story made no sense and now I know why. You're CIA!"

The Russians glanced at each other in confusion and disbelief.

"Don't be absurd," Drystan said with a glare. "You don't think your boss did his extensive research into Carys and I?" he asked. "Would he have hired us if he didn't?"

Elena shrugged. "These things slip through the cracks. Not everyone can be perfect."

"Much like you," Maddox said and Elena looked at her briefly, before returning to Drystan. "Elena Lazar. This is a desperate attempt to prove yourself to your co-workers, yes?"

"Shut up," Elena said, moving her pistol off of Drystan and onto Maddox. "Your mind games won't work on me."

"Very well," Maddox said without so much as emoting. "But I'm sure I am not the only person to see your insecurity," she said. "The way your eyes flicker with uncertainty. What created this need, I wonder?"

Elena's lip wobbled.

"Was it perhaps because of your family?" Maddox asked. Slowly, she lowered her pistol. "It's always family, isn't it? Either because your parents always expect more from you or…because your siblings are always accomplishing more."

Elena grimaced at the latter mention and Maddox smirked. "You don't know anything about me. All you do is make lucky guesses and-"

"Lucky, maybe. But correct," Maddox said. "Or maybe it's as you said. I am a CIA agent who did her homework on you."

Elena faltered. Her pistol dropped slightly.

"You know you're wrong," Maddox said. "But that little niggling is telling you 'what if?'. But when the Decembrist finds out, you'll be dead. Your country will forget you. And you'll be lucky if your family utters your name again."

Elena looked frantically between Maddox and Drystan. Finally, she lowered her pistol. "I'm sorry," she muttered.

The Russians exhaled as they, too, lowered their weapons. Drystan kept his revolver pointed at her for a moment longer, before he slid his pistol into his coat pocket.

"Your loyalty to your nation should be admired," Maddox said. She tilted her head to speak to the other agents. "Let that be a reminder to you. Elena is the type of agent you should strive to be."

Elena looked up at Maddox with awe. Her lips parted, but no sound came out. She was confused, but enthralled. In an instant her doubts melted away. She had been wrong and Maddox had shown her a tremendous amount of mercy.

She didn't hear Maddox's muttered words to Drystan. "Insecurity is the easiest to manipulate."

Elena didn't see the faces of her compatriots and only looked away when she heard commotion outside of the tent. Everyone turned in the direction of the entrance to see as a Heavenly Guard soldier entered, shoving a handcuffed Mikhail in front of him. Behind him, Colonel Kwai followed, holding a bag by its strap in one hand.

Elena shrunk in on herself. She had already made a fool of herself once, there was no need to talk again so soon. She glanced at Apokalipsis as he departed from the room to where Blake Nathaniel was being kept. She kicked herself for not thinking about it sooner. Keeping an eye on the prisoner to make sure he didn't escape. She returned her attention in front of herself.

"Mikhail?" Drystan voiced in confusion. He stepped over to Kwai as the soldier pushed Mikhail to the ground. "He's one of ours," he said to Kwai.

"He is," Kwai agreed. He held out the pack to Drystan. "They found him in the middle of hiding this underneath the floorboards of one of the houses," he said.

Drystan looked at Mikhail as he took the bag. He had an idea about what he would find but hoped, for all of their sakes, that he was wrong.

"Dr. Drystan!" Mikhail pleaded. "I didn't mean anything! I just…I just…"

"Is that so?" Drystan asked Kwai as calmly as he could. He opened the bag and dropped his hand inside, then pulled out a necklace with a gold chain.

Fury built in his chest. It was just as he suspected. He stared at the item in his hand and he wondered how, despite his constant warnings, why a member of his entourage had tried to steal from him.

"It seems not everyone is as loyal as you, Carys," Drystan commented as calmly as he could manage. He dropped the necklace back in the bag.

"Evidently not," Maddox said in agreement.

Drystan moved away to deposit the bag of stolen valuables on one of the desks. "I am here to help dig up not only lost history," he said to both the Russians and Kwai, "but to make history."

He faced Mikhail and watched for a moment as he struggled against the handcuffs around his wrist. The bubbling rage in Drystan's chest didn't stop for a moment.

"I did not need to allow any of you to accompany me," he said to the Russians. "And yet I did, as a show of trust to the Decembrist and a sign of friendship between me and your agency." He stepped closer to Mikhail and it was as though all air had been sucked out of the tent.

Each of the Russians could only watch with baited breath as they awaited Drystan's verdict.

"And yet today I find myself betrayed," Drystan said, his anger finally leaking into his tone. "Would I be in the wrong to make an example of this disobedience?"

He looked at the Russians with a questioning eyebrow while Mikhail looked on at them hopefully.

But almost to a man or woman, those whose faces could be seen, had expressions ranging from grave to condemning. Realization dawned on Mikhail that his life was entirely in Drystan's hands.

And Drystan didn't look particularly charitable in the mercy department.

The revolver he'd only so shortly ago put away was drawn once more, the barrel aimed at the ground, but Mikhail winced nonetheless, turning his head away.

"Look at me, Mikhail," Drystan said, "LOOK AT ME!"

Reluctantly, Mikhail complied, slowly turning his head to look up at the man.

"What were my orders?" Drystan asked.

"To...to find and bring all valuables directly to you...sir."

Drystan nodded. "That seemed rather clear to me. Wasn't I clear?"

He looked to Maddox then to the other Russians, with a gesture, obvious in his tone, that to say otherwise would likely earn them a bullet too.

"Dr. Drystan," Mikhail said, "please...I'm sorry...I-I won't do it again."

His tone was sincere, and he clearly looked beyond frightened.

"Sorry for what you did or sorry that you got caught, I can't help but wonder," Drystan snapped, leveling the pistol at him.

There was a tense ten seconds of silence as Drystan held the gun aimed at Mikhail.

"If I let you go, do you promise never to even think of trying something like this again?" Drystan asked.

The sheer amount of hope and relief in Mikhail's eyes was so obvious that even those behind him could see the shift in his posture.

"I swear on my life!" Mikhail exclaimed.

Drystan nodded his head, his face showing that he was considering it.

"Good. I believe you."

The gunshot that rang out so suddenly had everyone but Drystan and Maddox jumping in fright, and Mikhail died with the look of hope still on his face.

"My my, Owen," Maddox said, "how very me of you."

"I learnt from the best," Drystan remarked dryly, but gave Maddox a fond look, then he gazed out towards the Russians with a hard expression. "Let this be a lesson on how cheap everyone's lives are, and that no, stealing isn't a minor offense to me."

He pocketed his revolver and waved at the body. "Someone clean this up. I'm going to have a talk with my 'friend'."

Maddox fell into step beside him as they returned to where Nathaniel was...only to find the man missing.

Drystan practically roared with frustration, bringing some of the Russians charging in, and they too looked at the chair. A very empty chair with only the ropes strewn haphazardly about. On one side of the tent was a torn hole, big enough for someone to go through.

"How securely was he tied?" Drystan snapped at the nearest agent, then his eyes drifted to Elena, who had a nervous look on her face. "Elena? Something you want to share?"

Elena didn't miss how Drystan's hand drifted towards his pocket.

"I-I saw Apokalipsis coming here just now," she quickly said, "while Mikhail was being brought in. I thought he was just going to watch over the man."

Stasya went to the hole and traced her finger through the frayed fabric. "Someone cut through this. From our side."

Drystan exhaled. Elena could see how he forced his frustration and anger aside, and a sense of calm appeared on his face. "Then Apokalipsis is compromised," he said. He turned back and left the room. Maddox was quick to follow, as usual, and Elena went after him.

"We were betrayed?" Genrikh questioned.

"Find Apokalipsis and Nathaniel," Drystan ordered Kwai when he reached him. "I have no use for traitors, so do what you will to Apokalipsis. But bring Nathaniel to me alive."

---

"Keep moving," the man muttered to Nathaniel as he held him by the collar. Nathaniel didn't understand what was happening. One moment, he had his hands tied behind his back, and the next, one of Drystan's thugs entered. But rather than the agony that Nathaniel had prepared for, he had watched in confusion as the man used a letter opener to make a hole in the tent.

They passed Heavenly Guard soldiers who hadn't looked twice at either of them as they went. It was obvious to Nathaniel that this was not something that Drystan and Maddox had planned.

"Where are we going?" Nathaniel asked the man as they walked. There were soldiers on nearly every corner. But the man didn't seem worried.

He steered Nathaniel to the front door of one of the houses that appeared to have been forcefully abandoned. The man tested the handle and when it opened, he roughly pushed Nathaniel inside.

Nathaniel fell to his knees and could only watch as the man shut the door behind them and locked it. He continued to watch as the man moved to the closest window and grabbed the curtains, yanking it closed.

"Is this the part where you kill me?" Nathaniel asked. He tried to hide his nerves as he talked by planting his hands on his knees. There was little he could do but look at the masked man from behind his sunglasses. "Might as well get it over with," he said. He hoped that the man couldn't see past his false bravado.

He didn't want the man to know that he was afraid.

"If I were going to kill you, you would be dead already," the man said simply.

"Alright. Maybe you would have," Nathaniel said. Cautiously, he very slowly stood up. "You also probably would have kept my hands tied, too." He glanced around at his surroundings, looking for a way out, if he needed a quick exit. There wasn't much. A single hallway that seemed to run to the back of the house. It would be his only salvation.

Until he ran straight into one of the Heavenly Guard. He shifted his focus away from an exit strategy to makeshift weapons. There was a chair in the nearby kitchen that he could see through the doorway.

"Who are you?" he asked, tilting his head at the man.

"CIA," the man replied.

CIA?

The man turned his attention away from Nathaniel and started to make his way around the house to scrutinize his surroundings. Slowly, Nathaniel followed him. He entered the kitchen, where he found plates of expired food sitting on the countertop. Just like the rest of the house, the kitchen was worn down and looked as though it needed to be repaired. On one of the walls, he saw a pristine picture of Sun Po. The wooden flooring creaked beneath Nathaniel's every step.

"So, the CIA, hmm?" Nathaniel said, barely masking his confusion, "And how should I address you?"

My savior? was the sardonic thought.

There was a moment of pause, then the masked man replied, "Agent Smith. Carlton Smith."

"Smith?" Nathaniel said, "How very original."

"A name's a name," Smith replied.

"Fair enough. Smith it is."

Smith then held his hand up, calling for quiet, as he moved towards a wall. There was a partially open window, and the sound of approaching or passing voices could be heard. Nathaniel sidled up quietly beside Smith, following him closely.

"That Lewis," said a man with what sounded like a New York American accent, "has gotta be the luckiest dumbass alive. If there's a God, He's laughin' at how Lewis is still alive and keeping this job."

"Aye, couldna said it better meself," another man replied, this one with an Irish accent. "Yeh knowh, I've had t' fix so moch o' his bluidy mistakes. Doesna get a dern thing close."

"No kiddin', man," New York said, "well, at least there's no chance for 'im to screw things up, today. I love the fella, but I ain't got the heart to tell 'im he's nowhere near qualified for this job."

"Worse'n kickin' a pup," Irish agreed.

The conversing men were clearly taking a leisurely stroll, given how long it was taking them just to pass the house, and their conversation continued without concerns.

"Told 'im he shoudn'ta tried t' eat days old food jus' lying around!" New York grumbled. "He still pukin' 'n' shittin' himself in there?"

Smith leaned a little to get a look at the men as they passed the window, Nathaniel leaned a bit too, out of curiosity. They saw New York, a stout man of average height, jerking his head towards one of the houses across from the one they were in presently.

Irish made a sound. "Aye, poor lad. Be a while 'fore he c'n be on his feet."

Their voices began to fade as they moved past the house and began to pick up their pace, their conversation still on their friend, it seemed.

Smith grabbed the curtain and pulled it closed in front of Nathaniel's gaze. He looked at Smith with an annoyed expression.

"So, what's the CIA doing here?" Nathaniel asked when Smith didn't say anything else. "Or is that classified?" he added, half-sarcastic.

"You heard those people with Drystan and Maddox?" Smith asked, "The ones with Russian accents?"

Nathaniel thought Smith's question over. He had. He had thought it odd that Drystan had Russian thugs at his disposal. They were in Khandanyang, after all.

"I have," he said slowly. "Let me guess. FSB?"

"They're here for that crown. I'm sure you know the one," Smith told Nathaniel.

"The crown of Yuangdi Khan," he said. "I know it. Owen has been after Khandanyangan relics for years," he added scornfully. Nathaniel had thought it was an obsession. He hadn't been wrong. "Apparently they fetch the highest price. But what does this have to do with the CIA?"

Smith faced Nathaniel, who crossed his arms. "The CIA is concerned about the supposed mystical properties that the crown possesses."

Nathaniel blinked. He couldn't mask the bafflement that appeared on his face. That makes absolutely no sense, he thought. Was this a new project under Rice? Nathaniel wouldn't have been shocked. "You cannot be serious," he said.

"I am," Smith replied flatly.

Nathaniel wanted to throw his hands up. Because of course Smith was. "That's why those Russians have been sticking so close to Owen?" Nathaniel questioned. He put a finger to his jaw. "Owen might be an absolute disgrace, but even he would know that the crown is just that. A crown."

"And Maddox?"

"I don't know her as well as I know Owen," Nathaniel said. It was true. He had never met her before everything had taken place. "But it doesn't change anything. It's a piece of ancient history. One that deserves respect. It's not some artifact that is imbued with supernatural powers. Those don't exist."

"Is that a chance you're willing to take?" Smith asked. "Do you know the consequences of such power in the hands of the Russians? Or if that doesn't trouble you, what about Drystan's?"

Nathaniel exhaled out through his nose. Is an agent of the CIA really asking me that? "I've heard the legends. How Yuangdi Khan's crown has the power to turn people to ash and dust. Or the tales of how he scattered his artifacts all around the world, and whoever reunites them becomes the true king of Khandanyang. But that's all they are. Stories."

Smith didn't say anything for a moment. Nathaniel stood in uneasiness as he was pierced by Smith's eyes, even covered by goggles. "Regardless of what you believe, I know you are here to obtain the crown."

Nathaniel tried to play off his uneasiness with a shrug. "Sure. And so are you, as it turns out."

Smith took a step forward and Nathaniel took an instinctive step back. "Then we need to reach the crown before they do."

Nathaniel frowned. "I hate working with others," he muttered. The only exception was Sophia. What a woman, he thought, idly. "I've always worked better alone. Especially for something as dangerous as this." Not untrue.

"You were caught," Smith said.

Nathaniel grimaced. "Right...yeah." Walked right into that one. He went to the nearest window and peaked out of it. "The entrance to the temple is through that church," he said, pointing at it. That piece of knowledge had been painstaking to uncover.

Smith looked past Nathaniel to see the temple spire in the distance.

"But it could be a tomb," Nathaniel added, though he doubted that it was. "Either way, that's the way in." He looked at Smith. "Don't even think about trying to get in without me. You need my expertise."

Smith eyed Nathaniel up and down. Although he couldn't see Smith's gaze or expression under his mask, he still repressed the shiver. Nathaniel knew that he likely wouldn't be able to reach the temple unscathed. He had been caught once already. Not to mention the fact that he would never be able to pull off the same maneuvers that a CIA agent could.

Smith evidently thought among similar lines, and he said, "I will cause a diversion. That will be your opening to head to the temple."

Nathaniel nodded. Do I even want to know? "What's the diversion?"

Smith turned away from him. "You'll know."

---

The original residents of the village, those that were still alive, along with a number of people from elsewhere, had been pressed into service. They had dug out what looked like an entrance into an ancient site that led downwards, under the village, by almost fifty feet.

Most of the day and even the evening had the men and women tiredly hacking and digging the grounds, rock, gravel and even concrete with ill-suited tools ranging from hoes, rakes, simple picks and even their bare hands. The children of the villagers ran back and forth bringing water and meager rations.

While the Heavenly Guard were cruel, they weren't stupid, and killing exhausted slaves would only slow the work even more. At least by letting them have tiny breaks, food and water, they would continue the work.

Nonetheless, a boot to the back of slackers and a pointed rifle kept everyone working at a steady pace.

The entrance was cleared out slowly and carefully, revealing some ancient stairway. Moss and lichen covered the entire site, and water from broken pipes that fed into the fountain by the entrance was now creating an artificial rain.

The structural engineers that had been patiently waiting, now began their arduous work.

It was a slow process, and as much as the Heavenly Guard chafed at the methodical slowness, one engineer simply asked if they enjoyed being buried alive due to an imbalanced support, and then had the troops grudgingly quietening down.

George, one of the structural engineers brought along for this venture, drew a cigarette out of his pack and lit it. Sighing, he took a puff, then watched the slaves with a bored expression, hiding his nerves under that facade.

Shouldn't have accepted this job, he thought bitterly. Of course, he and his crew were swayed by the sheer amount of digits on the paycheck. That should have been a warning sign.

A villager was shoved to the ground and verbally threatened by a soldier at gunpoint. It was always gunpoint. And no matter what the slaves...villagers said, in that strange dialect of theirs, the soldiers always resorted to yelling and making very obvious threats. Sometimes they'd go so far as to aim at one of the kids, which would then have the villager(s) pleading and moving as fast as their weary bodies could go to comply with whatever they wanted, usually to do more digging.

Khandanyang was even worse than he'd heard or learnt. The rumors spoke about how vile the government and more importantly, its leader, was. But now that he'd seen it for himself firsthand, he realized all the rumors excessively downplayed the daily horrors the citizens went through. He could never look any friends or relatives back home in the eye from now on, or tell them he'd been to Khandanyang. That he worked for Sun Po in all but name.

He was taking his fourth puff, making a ring of smoke to entertain himself, when he noticed a familiar built man approaching, fully decked from head to toe in the engineer's gear, but worn in the way only the team's personal idiot - well, mascot at this point - would dress. The slightly overlarge helmet, red-tinted goggles, red shirt, overalls with one strap tied together after too many times getting torn, leather gloves and steel-toed safety boots in the worst yellow shade ever.

"Lewis?" George exclaimed, then waved the man over.

"Did yeh say Lewis!?" Iain, the team's Irishman and liquor supplier, called and looked over. "Begorra! There's our lad-aye, did 'e shave nowh?"

"Sure looks like it," George replied, "Hey, Lewis, over 'ere, bud. How'd you fix up so fast!?"

Calvin, another of their team, from America, like George, glanced over his shoulder, then muttered, "Just pretend to be useful, eh?"

He then returned to examining the wall nearest the entrance.

Frowning at the remark, George clocked Calvin on the back of the head.

"Ow!" Calvin cried.

Lewis had slowly approached them. His gait seemed...much stiffer, more rigid, almost military-like, than how he usually moved, which was more like a dumbfounded primate.

"So you feelin' better now, buddy?" George asked as he put his arm over Lewis' shoulder.

Something about Lewis looked and/or felt different. Lewis was often the definition of all-brawn and absolutely no brains. That wasn't to say he didn't have his redeeming features. The team, maybe save for Calvin, didn't just tolerate him or put up with him. He…brought his own charms. Though it took years to learn it.

Lewis nodded and rumbled a reply, but really, before he could say more, Iain spoke up.

"Glad t' hear tha', me lad. Hardly th' same without yeh."

He soon ventured down into the entrance.

George nodded. "He's right, buddy. Real glad you're up and about. But hey, listen…" He pulled Lewis down and half-whispered, "this ain't like back home, awright? And these folks're real touchy 'bout what's down there. So, just for this job, hang back an' relax, 'kay? We don't want this place fallin' down on top of us."

"Mmm-uh-huh," Lewis said and nodded, reaching behind him to rub the back of his neck.

"Good man." George clapped him lightly on the shoulder. "All right, Calvin, Ellie, Mack, Bo, let's go. Watch your step, everyone."

The lichen and moss, coupled with the flowing water on the stairs, made just getting to the bottom without slipping and breaking their necks something of a time-consuming affair. George was actually more worried about himself and the rest of the team than Lewis in this regard. For all his seeming slow-witted nature, Lewis was like a mountain goat on stairs or precarious heights.

He'd once seen him cross a steel girder with no safety, and he crossed back and forth without incident multiple times.

Ellie, the slender blonde and the only woman on their team, was daintily traipsing the stairs like a drunk ballerina trying to do a performance. Trying, and almost comically failing. Whilst giving George a mild heart attack. They tried to clean up the stairs initially, but after seeing how far it went, they opted for just trying to be careful instead.

The sound of dripping water into small pools below created an echo of noise that messed with their perception. Giving the impression of an even more cavernous and imposing feel than normal.

The lights on their safety helmets illuminated their path and the ancient site. Along the way, the team took out the glow rods, cracking them to activate the glow and dropping the sticks as they went along.

Iain, who had gone in ahead of the rest, carried several small but powerful solar lamps. He'd placed them by the most important sections for them, whilst carrying one in his free hand at all times to give himself better visibility.

From what they could glean, the walls were made of finely carved stone, stacked atop each other all the way to the ceiling. George could not tell at a glance how long this structure had been here, but it was a testament to its architects of the time that it didn't just come tumbling down in the centuries since.

There were numerous support pillars and he could see some of the foundations in the ground were now lying exposed. Previously, in a relatively airtight condition, this was fine, but now, with water slowly pooling around, and the inrush of fresh air, the conditions could change. In all likelihood, Drystan, Maddox and the Khandanyangans wouldn't have long to work before this whole place would come apart.

"Don't like the look of this wall, boss," Calvin said, shining an additional torchlight on the left side.

George immediately examined where the light was shining, and nodded.

"Yup, the locals set up a few of the bigger structures on top of it. The shoplots and a few three-storey longhouses. Damn, even if we hadn't dug it up, that side would collapse in a few more years."

Mack, Bo and Ellie ventured over to examine the walls and the pillars.

"A thiarcais!" Iain cried and stared at a collapsed pillar leaning against the inner structure's mainframe wall...on the left side…

"Ah shit," George muttered, "Iain, that what I think it is?"

"Aye, sir," Iain muttered as George and Lewis came closer. "One o' th' main pillars. See th' cracks in it? Bluidy thing'll break wi' one good kick anywhere. An' worse, this'll make a domino effect."

"Dammit," George swore, "of all the worst luck...we got enough pylons and girders to prop it up?"

"Nay, wouldna recommend it, lad," Iain said, then pointed. "Yeh see 'ow it's leanin' so 'ard against the wall? Been pressin' fer centuries or more nowh, any weight change will jus' speed op th' domino."

George swore and thought about kicking a loose rock in frustration, but any structural engineer worth their salt working inside an archaeological dig site knew that would be the height of folly.

Instead he glared around at the walls. Lewis was quietly watching and studying the walls, especially the pillar, with great interest. Turning his attention away to look from the left wall to the pillars, as George began to think how to solve this conundrum.

"Okay, so we can't put any kind of weight on the pillars, or on the wall it's leaning on, but what about leaning some support girders at an eighty-nine degree angle away from the wall?"

Iain scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Coul' work, I s'ppose, not ideal, but th' best we got in a terrible situation."

"Yeah, don't I know it. This job's gettin' worse by the second, I swear."

"Least we c'n take th' rest o' the year off with what we're gettin', aye?" Iain tried with a weak smile.

"What? With the way you, me and Ellie can drink? HAH! Oh, speaking of which, HEY, MACK, BO, ELLIE! Get your butts back topside, need you to winch down as many of the prefab girders as you can bring down at a time, we got work to do, and not a lot of time to do it!"

"On it boss!" the three echoed and began the arduous trek back up to the surface.

Calvin walked up to Lewis and nodded at the wall. "You see those cracks?"

He shone his light at what he was referring to, where pronounced cracks could be seen, and soil, plants and roots were growing out of them.

"That thing's so frail now, if that pillar breaks through the main wall and collapses, it'll bring nearly the entire left side down. After that, it's just a matter of time 'fore the rest of the place goes with it without the left side to help hold the place up."

He looked at Lewis and frowned. "Not that you'd care or understand, right?"

He shook his head and chuckled to himself as he walked away to join George and Iain to discuss how they could reinforce the collapsed pillar.

Lewis, or rather, 47, began to plan. Thanks to all the freely provided information, as Lewis fortuitously seemed to be some kind of team idiot. Perhaps he was a moral-support kind of teammate. Either way, this disguise proved extremely convenient. He had found the man groaning in bed and turning about, in his sleep. His clothing and gear was close at hand, so 47 had no trouble changing out of the Russian agent's uniform and into the engineer's garb.

Coincidentally, the man was bald too, and had a largely similar build, but had a beard, though a beard was easily shaved off, and that's what the other engineers seemed to think when they'd seen him.

Now that he was armed with some valuable intel, he knew, sooner rather than later, Drystan and Maddox would be down here once the engineers were done with their work. And based on George's continued mutterings with Iain, they had possibly less than a day, as they assumed, the archaeologists would want to get through the door.

"Man, if that door pulls an Indiana Jones," George said, "the vibrations alone could bring the walls down."

"Let's hope not," Calvin said, sounding worried.

Mack, Bo and Ellie had soon announced their return and used a winch system that they set up right over the entrance hole, where Lewis was called upon to help collect the girders and bring them to George and the rest. Lewis, 47 suspected, was far brawnier and stronger than even him, based on George muttering on how he was carrying far less than he normally could, but Iain defended him saying he still looked under the weather with how pale he was.

Indeed, the real Lewis had somewhat more tan to his skin tone than 47. Something the man did not have the luxury of addressing.

Once all the necessary supplies and tools were lowered, the trio of engineers above came back down to join the rest of the team in setting up a support structure, and shoring up the other pillars and the left wall as best as they could.

"This ain't no sure thing," George remarked after a few hours, "but it's the best we can do."

He wiped the sweat off his brow. Even in the cool climate of Khandanyang, the engineers' work was short but arduous.

"Awright, kids, back up and outta this hellhole. Iain, Calvin, actually, alla you, come with me, we gotta tell the bosses what's what."

They slowly climbed back up, but once they got to the top, Iain hung back and clasped Lewis on the shoulder.

"Yeh go on back in an' lie down, lad," Iain said, "the rest o' us c'n handle this without yeh. Still lookin' bloody pale."

Iain's face was creased with sincere worry and Lewis said, "Uh-yupp."

"Good lad." Iain clapped him again and then followed the other engineers.

Left on his own, 47 glanced at his surroundings. He knew where his strengths lay, and retrieving the crown on his own wasn't something he could do. Not on his own, not without an actual expert in the field. Ironically, Victoria might be more knowledgeable than him at this point in archaeology.

He observed his surroundings through Lewis' red-tinted goggles, and that was when he noticed a shrouded shadowy figure standing on a rooftop of a distant building, observing something. From where he stood, and obscured as it was by the goggles, 47 couldn't quite make out much details, and when he lifted the goggles, the figure had vanished.

No longer able to see it, he decided to look over at what had caught the mysterious figure's attention. But he did not need to try for very long when a scream alerted him to something amiss.

"AAAAAAAAAGGHK-!"

47 snapped his head up in time to watch a man evidently getting thrown off the roof of a building on the opposite side of where he'd seen that shadowy figure.

The unfortunate man hit the ground with a sickening crunch. The few villagers who'd been trudging by wearily, cried out and wailed in alarm, followed by tense silence.

Slowly, their fearful gazes turned upwards as 47's was, to the source from which the man had been thrown.

47 realized he needed a better view. Thus far, he had evaded notice. Careful to maintain a low profile, he nonetheless, risked moving out of the dig area and clambered up a scaffolding behind a building, and kept his head low as he reached the open space rooftop.

Most of the villagers had since resumed their work or moving on to wherever they were going, their heads lowered, under the watchful eyes of the Heavenly Guards.

The prodding of a rifle motivated those who moved too slowly for their liking to pick up the pace.

Somewhere deep within him, 47 felt...disapproval.

From his vantage, he had a fairly good view of what would be the village centre square, with a ruined fountain and a gaping maw adjacent to it, and now, lying near the fountain was the corpse. Blood pooled around his body, and from the way he landed on his neck, 47 could guess that the only mercy was that his death had been quite quick and relatively pain-free.

"STOP STARING!" a Heavenly Guard barked loudly, "Back to your work!"

For emphasis, he cruelly booted a young adult in the backside, earning a yelp, and the youth rushing ahead whilst keeping a hand on his non-la, the local type of hats commonly worn here.

The soldier continued threatening and aiming his rifle at various villagers, ordering them to keep working. 47 idly wondered if it even crossed their minds that the villagers and the guards do not speak the same language. While he could vaguely comprehend the Heavenly Guard, he couldn't even begin to decipher what the locals actually spoke. The dialect was far too foreign for him to even connect it to any of the Asian languages he knew or had heard before.

Keeping most of his form safely hidden behind the wall of the rooftop, 47 turned his attention away from the people on the ground floor below, and noticed a Heavenly Guard on the rooftop where the man had been thrown off, and he noticed that particular soldier wore a hat and aviators.

Moments later, the man turned to walk away from the edge.

Now realizing he had a means to conceal his face more easily. He began to plan how to obtain the man's clothing. Backing away from the edge, he double checked his surroundings and especially the alley below before climbing back down.

He considered his options while keeping a watchful eye on his surroundings. He could not reuse the uniform he appropriated from Apokalipsis, as he heard the other Russians call him, as he was thought to be a traitor or at least compromised. So he would be caught or worse, killed, if he tried that. The structural engineers would be largely ignored around the dig, but one roaming the village looking around might arouse suspicion.

Due to how xenophobic the Khandanyangans were, movement was an issue and his options limited.

47 moved past a patrol of Heavenly Guard who eyed him warily, then turned down the alleyway adjacent to the building. He spotted a fire escape ladder, leading to different floors of the building. But the only one that he cared for was the one that led him all the way to the top.

Pausing a beat to make sure the alley was clear, 47 leapt onto the fire escape and climbed his way up. When he reached the roof, he peeked over the ledge to see a row of handcuffed villagers. In front of them was the same Heavenly Guard that 47 had seen. A rifle was held aloft in his hands.

47 almost pulled himself up when the door to the rooftop access opened.

Another Heavenly Guard stepped out onto the roof, wielding a shotgun in both hands. A bandana hung around his neck. "You made a mess down there," he said to the other.

"I almost feel sorry for whoever has to clean it up," the other soldier said. He turned to face his companion with a grin. "Colonel Kwai gave me permission to deal with the weak and useless however I see fit," he said smugly.

The new arrival scoffed. "Lucky," he bemoaned. "Which one is next?" he asked, turning to face the villagers.

Neither of them noticed 47 pull himself onto the roof and duck behind the rooftop access.

"Oh, I've so many options," the first soldier said. He sneered. "This is long overdue. Only Khandanyangans should be in Khandanyang."

"Agreed," the second soldier said. "I'm going to-"

The soldier was interrupted by the sound of something falling and he looked towards the rooftop access in confusion. It sounded like something small and metal hitting the ground.

"Go check that out," the first soldier said. A nasty grin bloomed across his face and his eyes landed on one of the villagers. "I know which one is going bye-bye next."

"Yeah. On it," the second soldier said. He readjusted his bandana slightly and approached the rooftop access. He was nonchalant as he heard the sound of the other soldier grab one of the villagers and drag him towards the edge of the roof.

The screaming had long since stopped having an impact.

He opened the door to take a look down the stairwell, before he shut it again and made his way towards the back of the rooftop access. He didn't hear the soft-paced steps of 47 as he circled around the building.

When he reached the other side of the rooftop access he frowned in confusion as he spotted a coin lying on the ground. A coin that certainly was not a currency of Khandanyang. Slowly, he bent down to pick it up and he squinted to try to make out the words engraved on it, completely baffled by its appearance.

He didn't have time to think on it when he suddenly felt his right leg getting kicked hard to the side, nearly forcing him into a split, then as he looked up, he saw a left fist smashing violently into his face, and his nose caved in. So stunned by the pain, he didn't even think to cry out as he overbalanced and fell forward into his assailant's onrushing gut-puncher.

With all the wind knocked out of him, he barely managed a wheeze as the combination of pain and injuries rendered him unconscious.

After the soldier slumped to the floor, 47 retrieved his coin. He circled back around the building to see the second soldier dangling a villager precariously over the side of the building.

The row of villagers noticed 47 when he emerged. He could see the hopelessness etched into their faces. They had already accepted death. That didn't make them any less terrified of their impending doom.

47 snuck across the roof, keeping his steps just as quiet as before. From the corner of his eyes, he saw the villagers watch without making a noise. But they were not his focus. The soldier was.

So focused on his cruel game, the soldier never heard 47's approach behind him, not over the screaming and pleas of the villager he held, or his own laughter or taunts. The screams and laughter ceased immediately when 47 had his left hand in a vice-like grip over the soldier's throat, and violently yanking him - and by association, the villager - back onto the roof.

Normally, 47 would have just applied a sleeper hold and been done with it, but for some vindictive reason, he wanted this man to feel some of the pain he eagerly doled out onto these villagers.

The soldier had finally released the villager, who gasped in shock.

47 briefly released his grip on the soldier's neck, thrusting the man in front of himself, and though still in a surprised state, it was a testament to the soldier's skill as he tried to bring his rifle to bear on 47, but 47 applied a swift kick to the side of the weapon, knocking the aim away and unbalancing the soldier.

What followed next was forever seared into the memories of the villagers on that rooftop, as 47 launched such a rapid series of attacks; a palm thrust to the jugular, causing the soldier to grasp his own throat, wheezing and gasping, followed by two swift but solid punches to his face that snapped the man's neck back with each impact, followed by an extremely brutal kick between his legs that made every male present wince.

The soldier fell to his knees, eyes staring blindly ahead as he fell face-down to the floor, long-since unconscious.

47 rolled the soldier to the side, and further out of view from anyone below. Then, he pilfered through his pockets until he found what he was looking for: keys to the handcuffs.

An opportunity had presented itself and the idea had formed rapidly in 47's mind. Freeing these people would cause enough of a diversion that he and Nathaniel could move relatively safely. The soldiers would soon be dealing with a different form of problem.

But as 47 bent down to unlock the first villager's handcuffs, he saw something familiar in the man's eyes. The yearning of freedom. Of revenge and vengeance. Full of pain and suffering, and the deep want to be unshackled from an oppressor.

It was familiar because 47 used to see his own reflection the same way. But now his oppressor was long gone. Ort-Meyer had been dead for well over a decade. And even after all this time, 47's mind still strayed.

The handcuffs clicked and the villager shook them off. Then, he launched himself at 47, who reared back and prepared a quick strike against the villager to knock him unconscious.

But…the attack never came.

For the first time in a long time, 47 stood in uncertainty. Belatedly, he realized that he wasn't being attacked, but hugged.

When was the last time that something remotely similar had happened? Against his will, 47 thought back to Blackwater Park in Chicago. When Blake Dexter planned to destroy the building and flee by helicopter with Victoria.

He thought of how frightened Victoria had been. How after he undid her binds, she wrapped her arms around his waist and tucked her head into his chest.

It had been the first proper hug 47 had received in his entire life.

The way that Victoria held onto him, full of trust, was beyond anything 47 had ever experienced. He had never been so close to someone that showed their implicit trust in him in such a way. The only other people to ever come close were Vittorio and Diana.

The villager pulled away from 47, speaking in a dialect that 47 did not know. He took the keys and started to undo the handcuffs on the rest of the prisoners.

"These people were slated for execution," Diana said, and 47 thought he detected a tone that suggested approval. "I believe I see what you are planning, 47."

47 didn't say anything as the villagers fled from the scene. He saw as two of them grabbed the rifle and shotgun respectively before going through the rooftop access. He felt the muscles on his face shift in a pattern unusual to him.

He reached up, putting a finger to his lips and he realized with a start that he had a small smile adorning his face. Slowly, the smile disappeared and, with the prisoners gone, 47 crouched down beside the body of the closest subdued soldier.

Without a second to spare, he stripped the soldier down and out of his uniform, and discarded Lewis' structural engineer outfit. He slipped the Heavenly Guard uniform on and plucked up the soldier's aviators. He slid them onto his nose, and his vision became orange with the lenses.

Nobody would be able to tell his ethnicity at a glance. A fact that 47 would rely on. He grabbed the soldier's leg and dragged him into the rooftop access where he found a crate. Opening it, 47 deposited the soldier inside. When he was done, he returned for the second soldier. But not before he took the soldier's bandana and wrapped it around his own neck, and pulled it on over the end of his nose.

The distant sound of gunshots told 47 that his diversion had begun.

---

Fury coursed through Han's veins. His teeth gritted in agitation. He had thought he was going to die. The Khandanyangan soldiers had him convinced that he was going to die.

And maybe I still will, Han thought to himself. But if he did, it would be on his terms. Not while he was lying down. While he could still fight back.

The pickaxe felt cold in his hands. It was the only weapon that he had been able to grab on short notice, and without alerting the soldiers to what was afoot. He was but a mere slave to them, after all. He was going to show them why they would regret that. He was going to show them why they would regret coming here.

Han planted his back against the wall and let out a breath. The approaching footsteps and laughter told him that the so-called Heavenly Guard were just about to reach him.

Images of his wife and his sister flew through his mind. The soldiers had executed his wife without a second thought. But maybe, just maybe, he could spare dear Xia the same fate.

The footsteps drew nearer, and just before they reached the corner he hid, Han acted. He held in his cry and flung himself around the wall. He savored the look of surprise that appeared on the faces of the soldiers, just before he embedded the gleaming pickaxe through one of their faces.

The second soldier let out a cry of alarm. The shock of the attack seemingly made him forget about the rifle in his arms and Han released his hold on his pickaxe. Then, before the soldier could raise the rifle, Han charged.

He collided with the soldier, sending both of them to the ground. Their bodies trapped the rifle between them, and they both struggled for it, hands pushing or pulling to gain leverage and control.

"AUGH!" the soldier grunted. He reached up with one hand to grab at Han's face.

"Bastard!" Han screamed at the soldier, though he knew he couldn't understand him. He cranked his arm back to slam it into the soldier, but that was all the soldier needed.

The shifting of Han's weight and position allowed the soldier to use his leg, folding it close to his chest, squeezing it through the gap between himself and Han. Then, he kicked forward, hammering his heel into Han, and throwing him back.

But the sudden force launched the rifle away as Han collapsed next to the corpse of the first soldier. He glanced quickly at his handiwork. The pickaxe had gone right through his face, caving it inward in a mess of flesh and blood. Shattered teeth lined the street. His features were nearly completely unidentifiable.

The soldier lunged before Han could regain his footing, where he landed in the pool of blood of the first soldier. Han grunted as pain flooded through him, but he refused to die without a fight.

He spied the pickaxe, facing skyward from where he had left it. Less than a foot away. But he didn't have time to contemplate before the soldier wrapped his hands around Han's neck.

Han's eyes bulged and his hands shot out to grasp anything he could get his hands on. Any form of leverage. But he found nothing.

Right above him, just barely out of reach from his arms, the soldier grinned. He said something that Han didn't understand. In the edges of Han's vision, blackness crept in.

Is this…how I die? Han thought to himself. He could barely think. The lack of oxygen that flowed to his brain steadily decreased. It wouldn't be long before his brain shut down. Before his last thoughts encompassed him.

At least he would die fighting. At least he wouldn't die on his knees.

Han looked at the pickaxe again, then shifted his eyes slowly to the soldier. The soldier was just above the length of the pickaxe.

He choked, opening his mouth in an attempt to suck in any breath that he could. But nothing came. His lungs felt ready to burst and he kicked his legs out, desperately writhing.

Utilizing the last strength he had, Han reached up with his hands and grabbed the uniform of the soldier. Then. he began to tug downward and to the side as hard as he possibly could

The soldier's eyes grew large as he saw his precariously close he was to the other sharp point of Han's pickaxe. Managing a weak grin, Han felt the soldier's grip around his throat loosening ever so slightly as he attempted to shift strategies from killing Han to escaping his own dilemma. But it was all Han needed to suck in some much needed air, returning clarity to his mind and lending strength to his own grip on the soldier.

Taking a quick glance down, he moved his leg, then kicked the soldier's foot out from under him as he tried pushing himself up. The loss of balance, quickly sent the soldier careening downwards, his eye sinking into the sharp point of the pickaxe, and a shrill scream of agony pierced the air.

"AGHHHHHHHHHHHH!" the soldier howled in agony.

His blood spilt down the end of the pickaxe, dripping down onto Han's face and mouth.

"You taste like shit!" Han spat. With one more mighty yank, he pulled the soldier towards him harder than ever before.

The soldier released a single whimper as he was forced down the pickaxe, then went limp as Han heard the disgusting sound of bones splitting and cracking.

Han held onto him for what felt like hours. He stared up at the soldier's dead, fearful remaining eye. There was no sympathy to be found in Han's.

Sandwiched between corpses now, with both ends of his pickaxe having a Heavenly Guard embedded in them, he realized with grim satisfaction that the battle for the liberation of his home had officially begun. Gunfire filled the air, and the echoing roar of an oppressed people who had been pushed too far reminded the soldiers that while they had more guns and training, the surviving villagers and the slaves brought in from other villages and towns outnumbered them twenty-to-one.

And with each Heavenly Guard killed, that was one more rifle, knife or grenades in their hands. And besides, he glanced again at his now slick crimson pickaxe, if nothing else, these tools were extremely good at caving in skulls and faces.

Shoving off the second soldier, he got up with a soft groan, then bent down to retrieve and sling their rifles across his back, pocketed their pistols, grenades and knives, and after looking down at that pickaxe, reached for its handle, and with a grunt and one swift motion, wrested it out of the first soldier's skull.

Spitting on the soldier, Han grimly set out to rejoin his fellow neighbours, friends and family, casually resting the pickaxe over his shoulders, ignoring the blood soaking into his clothes.

His wife always said red looked good on him.

---

"There it is," Maddox said with a grin. She looked down through the tunnel entrance, excitement thrumming in her veins. This was why she went into archaeology. The thrill of it.

The simple fact that they were so close to another artifact made Maddox exhilarated. There was nothing quite like obtaining a relic of the past. This would be the last relic they would find until she and Drystan went to Cameroon.

That had been a surprise. But a welcome one. Maddox was certain that she had left her mark on the world already. Her work with Drystan, she felt, successfully secured that. But the opportunity to teach young adults what she knew would leave her a lasting legacy.

She looked on with admiration at Drystan as he pulled his coat off and handed it to a structural engineer. Maddox wondered if he thought similarly. She felt that she knew him well enough, but this was not a matter that he talked about.

But she knew that Archangel was a backup plan for Drystan. If things went wrong in America, Archangel was something that he could fall back on in the meantime.

The sound of distant gunfire shook Maddox out of her reverie. She scowled. The Khandanyangans continually proved how useless they were. The Heavenly Guard were touted as being elite, but Maddox had seen nothing that would set them apart from any other military.

Idly, she began to massage her gloved hand. Their time in Khandanyang was going to come to a tumultuous end, Maddox knew. They had to retrieve the crown and then leave.

A simple extraction, by all means. It should've been, Maddox thought as her eyes darted in the direction of the gunfire.

"I want rows of two, single file," Drystan said to Colonel Kwai. "Weakest in the front. I won't be taking any more chances."

Kwai pulled out a walkie-talkie and spoke into it. Maddox glanced past him at the remaining FSB agents. Genrikh, Elena, Ruslan, and Stasya. After the betrayals of Mikhail and Apokalipsis, Maddox had watched as, before her eyes, their faces became set in determination.

A little bit of manipulation went a long way. And as Maddox set her gaze on Elena, Maddox was more than confident in her belief that insecurity was a valuable asset.

"Owen," Maddox said, turning her attention to Drystan. As she spoke, she produced her pistol. She would need it, if the gunfire came any closer.

"Carys," Drystan said in return. There was some uneasiness in his features, Maddox noticed.

That made Maddox's blood boil. Those damn villagers. At first, she had felt some level of sympathy for them. Not anymore.

"I will bring Yuangdi Khan's crown to Moscow," she told him.

Drystan raised a brow at her. "You know the Decembrist is expecting me," he responded. Soldiers passed by him, entering into the temple in just the manner that he ordered.

"He can work with a liaison," Maddox said. The Decembrist would have to.

Drystan considered her. He stepped closer to her and said, "Much as I appreciate your offer, I'd like to see the crown arrive in Moscow personally."

Maddox nodded in understanding. It wasn't a matter of whether Drystan trusted her; she knew that he did. "Do you wonder if by having the completed set, there will be some form of…powerful phenomenon?"

"Is that what you believe?" Drystan asked. He looked amused. "I never took you for being a believer of the supernatural, Carys."

Maddox's lips quirked. "I have every episode of Emil Marmont downloaded on my computer."

"I see his upcoming trial doesn't phase you at all," Drystan commented.

Maddox shrugged. She truly didn't care about the charges brought against Marmont. His hunt for the paranatural intrigued her, though she doubted he would ever find anything.

She didn't believe in those things, either.

The rattling of gunfire made Maddox curl her grip tighter around the hilt of her pistol. These damnable people, she thought to herself.

"Let's go," Drystan said after another row of soldiers disappeared down the temple entrance.

"Happy to," Maddox said. Drystan took the lead and Maddox followed closely behind. She heard the footsteps of the Russians a moment later as they pursued them.

When they arrived on the other side, Maddox took in her surroundings in awe. Her feet were placed carefully as she went. The stone ground was slippery and dimly, she wondered just how many of the soldiers had fallen.

The temple was illuminated by lights placed around by the structural engineers, all powered by a generator. It gave the perfect amount of light to be able to see everything that Maddox wished to see. The perfectly carved stone that made up the walls. The written words into the rock, in a long dead language.

This was why she had gone into this field. The budding excitement at revealing an undiscovered site. The knowledge that she was among the last people who would ever see it still standing. Maddox knew that the temple likely wasn't going to survive much longer. The structural engineers had warned her of that.

The soldiers milled about, taking in the same sights that Maddox did. Some of them conversed quietly among themselves. Maddox stepped forward through the chamber with Drystan. As they did, the soldiers stepped aside to let them through.

At the end of the chamber, Maddox could see a large, circular stone door, illuminated by lights. Blocking their way forward. When she and Drystan reached it, they found Colonel Kwai staring up at it with his hands on his hips.

"I don't suppose that it has a doorknob," Kwai said with an annoyed sneer.

"That would be convenient," Maddox said. "Which means that no, it doesn't."

"Then we'll break it down," Kwai said. He sniffed and crossed his arms. It was evident to Maddox that he wanted to be anywhere but here. He was far out of his element.

"No," Drystan shot down. "Not unless you want to bring the entire temple down on us." Kwai looked scathingly at Drystan and Maddox felt her anger rise.

Life was a game. And Kwai would be one of the losers. Maddox would make sure of it. She palmed the hilt of her pistol in contemplation, before she held it aloft so that she could again start to massage her gloved hand.

But no matter what, these soldiers were loyal to Sun Po and Sun Po alone. For now, that extended to Colonel Kwai. When they were done here, Maddox would spill information she knew about Kwai. The way that he had betrayed Sun Po.

Maddox stepped away from the door as Drystan beckoned the structural engineers to get the door open. Each of them avoided her gaze like the plague. She couldn't help but grin.

---

Nathaniel grimaced and ducked his head as the sound of gunfire echoed through the village. He'd had no idea what Smith had in mind when it came to causing a diversion, but this had not been what he was expecting.

Smith was nearly dragging him through the streets. He stopped when they came to a corner, but the pause never lasted long. The temple quickly approached. Again, Nathaniel wondered what the point of this was. All of this chaos, just for a crown?

More shots rang through the air. Closer than before. Nathaniel ducked to the ground, but Smith didn't seem worried in the slightest.

"What did you do?" Nathaniel gritted out. His fear was palpable, and he was well aware that Smith must have known that fact.

"I freed some slaves," Smith said, languidly. "They did the rest."

Nathaniel made a noise in the back of his throat. Even he wasn't sure what it was. "Hopefully Sun Po doesn't decide to have us bombed, then," he said.

"He won't," Smith said. Nathaniel raised an eyebrow at him. "He wants the crown as much as Drystan and Maddox do."

Nathaniel nodded, slowly. That makes sense, he supposed. It would be the only reason that the two of them would be allowed to work on Khandanyangan soil.

When Smith had shown up back at the house, Nathaniel's first instinct had been to attack. He hadn't recognized him. Not that he had much to go on. Smith had put on the uniform of a Heavenly Guard soldier, with aviators over his eyes and a bandana over his mouth. He also had a coil of rope over his shoulder. Regardless, Smith had refused to show his face. Nathaniel guessed that it was for confidentiality purposes. And if that meant that Nathaniel would be in less trouble with the CIA, then so be it.

Never had he been so glad that Sophia was nowhere near where he was. As ambitious a woman that she was, even Khandanyang was too much. It was too much for him. But he refused to let Drystan or Maddox take another artifact. He had been one step behind them since Argentina.

He looked at the temple they were approaching and although he had only seen it from a distance, it was clearly built a long, long time ago. It didn't look as though it belonged to any religion he was familiar with.

Another round of gunfire made Nathaniel grimace and look around wildly. But there was no one in sight. All of the Heavenly Guard had moved away from the area, just as Smith had intended.

Nathaniel sucked his lip between his teeth as they made it to the temple door. Smith took the handle into his hand and pushed it open. Together, they entered and Nathaniel took in his surroundings.

The temple was…odd. The aesthetics were simple. A row of benches, one after another, pointed towards an altar that sat upon a tiled flooring. There were unlit candelabras evenly spaced around the room leading up to the altar, and at the wall behind it. But there was no religious iconography that told Nathaniel what religion the holy place was meant for. He took the lead, stepping past the rows of benches slowly as he went. One of the walls held a portrait of Sun Po. It looked like the only thing that was regularly cleaned. He ran a finger along the back of one of the benches, scooping off a layer of dust, about an inch thick.

"Nobody has cleaned this place in a while," Nathaniel said. He dusted his finger off by touching his hand to his coat.

"How do we get to the sanctum?" Smith asked.

Business as usual, Nathaniel thought. He was fortunate that this would be a one time thing only. He dreaded the idea of the blunt Smith joining him on future archaeological expeditions.

An image of Smith in the Congo appeared in his head, and Nathaniel grinned slightly at the thought. "I'm not sure," he said aloud. He glanced at the beams surrounding the altar, but found nothing of note.

"Drystan and Maddox will be arriving in the temple soon," Smith said. He split from Nathaniel to examine the walls.

Nathaniel set his teeth. "I know, I know. I don't want them getting that crown. With them, it's an affront to history."

Smith didn't respond. Nathaniel moved away, walking to the door at the back of the room. The idea of Drystan and Maddox retrieving another artifact worried him. They didn't care at all for the historical significance of their finds, and that infuriated him.

"Drystan tried to recruit me, once," Nathaniel said as he explored the back room. It didn't seem to be anything special. Books on shelves with names in a language that didn't even look Khandanyangan. "Tried to sell me on smuggling artifacts to buyers." He scoffed.

"And you said no," Smith deduced.

"I said more than that," Nathaniel said. "I told him that he was a disgrace to the profession. To think I'd actually respected that man." His fingers traced the spines of the books. He narrowed his eyes, then shook his head.

Again, Smith didn't add anything. Nathaniel found himself hoping that he would. He didn't enjoy the long stretches of silence. He took another step when the stone floor under him felt…off.

Nathaniel froze. Ever so slowly, he crouched down and balled a hand. Then, he rapped his knuckles against the ground. He smiled.

"The ground is hollow here," he said. After a moment's pause, Smith appeared in the doorway. "Looks like our way in." He stood, dusting himself off.

But how…? he wondered. Is there a trick of some sort? he questioned himself as he stepped back to join Smith. Nathaniel prided himself on finding the solutions to puzzles and traps that would unlock where he next needed to go. Just like the movies, he thought with a smirk.

People like Drystan and Maddox had no care for the damage they caused. They didn't try to figure out the clues. They just tore the earth up until they got what they needed before they moved on. Nathaniel hated it. He tapped a finger to his chin.

Maybe I could-

But his thoughts were interrupted when Smith grabbed the side of the shelf and promptly tipped it over. Nathaniel jumped back in surprise as collided with the ground, which quickly gave way under the sudden force.

The stone broke away and fell, and Nathaniel could do nothing but watch as the floor crumbled. The shelf slipped through the ground, falling down into the temple below. The loud bang that followed made anger flow through Nathaniel's heart.

Nathaniel coughed as he took in a sharp breath, sucking in the dust that had been thrown up into the air. He turned towards Smith with a harsh glare. "That was unnecessary!" he said.

Smith just gave him a blank look. Well, as blank as Nathaniel could tell through those aviators and bandana. He certainly didn't like sharing his identity or appearance. Which would explain how they got the nickname of spooks.

Without a word, Smith began to unwind the coil of rope around his arm and tied one end to the nearby bench. With some effort, he began to drag the bench over towards the hole. Seeing how heavy it was, Nathaniel walked over to lend some assistance, with Nathaniel muttering, "Hey, Blake, think you could help me with this heavy bench? Why suuuure, Smith, I'd be happy to since you asked!"

Smith just gave him another look but didn't say anything as the two of them grunted with effort and finally got the damned thing nearer the hole until the bench actually hid it from view unless you were looking over it.

Nathaniel watched as Smith began to form knots every two feet, then lowered the rope into the hole. After testing that the bench would hold his weight, he began to climb down.

After seeing him get down with relative ease and no sound of violence, while the sound of violence outside the temple drew closer, Nathaniel made his decision and clambered down the rope. He took quite a bit longer than he would have liked, but this was hardly something he did on a regular basis.

At the bottom, there was very little illumination except for what little light shone down through the hole above. He eyed the now shattered marble shelf and shook his head. That alone could have been a priceless artifact.

He heard a soft crack and turned around to see Smith had brought glow sticks and was cracking a few then tossing them about, giving them a bit more illumination than before.

After that, he produced a flashlight, seemingly ripped off from a safety helmet. Shrugging, Nathaniel took out his own personal flashlight, a small, flat palm-sized device that gave off a bright white beam.

"Well, this is the inner sanctum of the ancient temple," Nathaniel said, "Huh…they built a temple on top of a temple...or the temple above had an entrance that led to the one below…"

"Where would the crown be?" Smith asked.

"Generally, if it's their pride and joy, I'd say it'd be somewhere in the center, so…"

Nathaniel started aiming his beam of light about, getting his relative bearings, noticed the large door fixed into the wall and then walked towards the center of the room, where he started looking down at the floor.

He spotted the slight incline of a square tile on the floor, and after dismissing that it was a pressure plate for some kind of trap, he knelt down and examined the tile more closely.

"Smith, I think this is a hidden pedestal. It rises up." Nathaniel said, and he began to look around. "There has to be a switch or something around here somewhere that'll raise it. Try and look around."

Nathaniel moved away and began to search the walls in earnest. It wouldn't be somewhere too difficult nor would it be as complicated as some movies liked to portray. Most people favoured convenience over theatrics.

The sound of violence drew ever nearer overhead, and whenever he was near the walls leading into the chamber beyond, Nathaniel could hear muffled voices. So he didn't pay attention to the grating noises of ancient stone scraping against the sides until the pedestal was practically all the way up, and Smith was carefully removing the fabled crown.

So excited was he by the discovery, he actually dismissed that Smith was practically looting the artifact before his eyes, and he quietly crowed, at last able to get to something before Drystan.

"You found it!" he said.

Instead of answering, Smith looked behind them, and with the crown in his hand, quickly darted to the right hand corner, kicking away the nearby glow sticks. Nathaniel took far too long to realize he should have followed Smith's lead as he heard a louder, deeper rumbling noise, and realized Drystan and Maddox figured out how to open the door. And he looked about in a panic for cover.

But Nathaniel was too late. The door lifted and he watched helplessly as the Heavenly Guard poured into the sanctum. When their eyes landed on him, an assortment of rifles and shotguns were pointed straight at him.

Nathaniel glared. Slowly, the Heavenly Guard spread out through the sanctum, creating enough space for the plethora of them to be able to freely walk around. There should not have been so many people in a place like this. The more there were, the more likely it became that the temple would come crashing down.

One of the men, dressed in a higher ranking military uniform, looked above at the gaping hole in the ceiling. He set his mouth in a firm line. But otherwise, he said nothing.

"Put your hands up!" one of the soldiers barked at Nathaniel, and he immediately complied.

"Yeah, yeah," Nathaniel said. He scowled at the Heavenly Guard and glanced in the direction that he had last seen Smith.

Somewhere above them, another series of gunshots rang out, and Nathaniel could see how the soldiers became more tense.

"Your city is revolting and you're worried about some artifact?" Nathaniel asked the colonel.

The colonel glared at Nathaniel, but he couldn't say a word before someone else beat him to the punch.

"Blake?" came the familiar voice of Drystan.

A group of soldiers parted and in the middle of them, Nathaniel saw Drystan and Maddox appear. Behind them was a grouping of people dressed unlike the Heavenly Guard. But the weapons in their hands gave them away. They were the FSB that Smith told him about.

"I should've known you wouldn't give up so easily on the crown," Drystan said. He grinned as his gaze flicked to the hole in the ceiling. "It's funny. After all the condemnation of ruining ancient sites, you've done the same thing here. It seems that your sanctimonious ways have finally caught up to you."

"Oh, Jesus." Nathaniel scoffed and rolled his eyes. He nearly dropped his hands, but kept them up. He didn't want to get shot. "Spare me your bullshit. You're working with the Heavenly Guard. I've seen what you've been doing to the people up there," he said, nodding his head in the direction they had come from.

Maddox sneered at Nathaniel. "Try not to deflect the conversation away, Nathaniel," she said. She stepped forward and Nathaniel looked at her pistol. It was clasped in her gloved hand, which she massaged idly with her free hand. "You're still the same man with delusions of grandeur!"

"Go to hell!" Nathaniel snapped at her, who looked back impassively.

"I am afraid that I am going to need that crown, Blake," Drystan said. He eyed the empty pedestal at the end of the sanctum. "I can't return home without it."

"Maybe you should have thought about that before you got involved in the atrocities committed here," Nathaniel replied. "Word will get out about your involvement."

Drystan frowned at Nathaniel. There was a faltering in his movements and Nathaniel knew then that Drystan didn't care at all about the crown itself. He cared only about what it could do for him. Him and his buyer.

"Do you trust your Russian friends not to say anything?" he added for good measure. He saw them, with the exception of the younger woman, glance between each other.

A brief look of perturbation crossed Drystan's face before it passed. "You're not the first person to say any of this to me. Don't ruin everything I've worked so hard for," he said, his tone taking on a dangerous aspect. "When I'm done with this little project, I'm going back to America. And you?" He paused, considering. "I guess we'll find out."

Nathaniel smiled, despite himself. "Planning on killing me? Are you gonna chuck me in with the rest of the dead in some mass grave?"

"Unlike you, Blake, I am willing to let bygones be bygones," Drystan said. He held out his hand. "Give me the crown and nothing has to happen here. Perhaps we can come to an arrangement."

"What are you doing?" Maddox whispered softly.

"Improvising," Drystan told her, just as softly. But the acoustics of the chamber told Nathaniel what had been said.

Nathaniel stared at the proffered hand. Even if he did have the crown, he would never hand it over to Drystan willingly. "After everything you have done here, do you expect me to hand it over?"

Drystan lowered his hand. "Then all of those people will have died for nothing."

Nathaniel stepped back as he watched Maddox raise her pistol. He closed his eyes in preparation for the shot. He had always known he would die in one of these adventures. Faced off against someone who was willing to kill for an artifact. What were the odds that his body would ever be found? He hoped that, one day, someone would recover his ancient remains.

However, the shot never came. What Nathaniel heard instead was the sound of a body hitting the ground. The surprise noises of the soldiers made him blink his eyes open and he saw, at the entrance of the sanctum, a soldier grasping at his bloody throat while a man in a cloak stood over him. A knife in his hand.

"You're not one of the revolters," Drystan said as he took in the sight of the man.

No. He isn't, Nathaniel thought. The man was shrouded in a black cloak that wrapped around him. Nathaniel had made sure to do his research before he arrived in Khandanyang, and he had heard rumors. Whispers. But nothing definitive. A sect of guardians that defended Yuangdi Khan's crown.

"I am going to give you the option once," the guardian said, speaking Khandanyangan. "You are to leave this place and never return. Otherwise I promise you that you will face bloodshed."

The colonel nudged past Drystan. "I am Colonel Lhom Kwai with the Heavenly Guard. I carry with me the orders of our Heavenly Leader. You are not permitted to be here." He sneered at the guardian. "You have just murdered a soldier of the Heavenly Guard."

The guardian didn't say anything for a long moment. None of the soldiers yet made a move against him and Nathaniel risked a step back in retreat.

"You have harmed the people of this village and now you refuse to leave the temple of Yuangdi Khan alone. You have been warned," the guardian said ominously. "You carry with you a badge of evil."

Kwai opened his mouth to retort, but that was when the guardian acted. He spun on his heel and thrust his knife into the chest of the nearest soldier. Another one started to raise their rifle, but the guardian was tremendously quick. He pulled the knife from the first soldier's chest before twirling around and hurling it into the chest of the second.

Nathaniel took another step back in surprise, and saw as, all around the edges of the sanctum, from crevices in the wall, as more guardians spilled out into the chamber. The soldiers realized far too late before, around the ends of the room, the guardians struck.

Pure pandemonium erupted in seconds.

The soldiers took aim and opened fire on the guardians, but they were swift. Knife entered through soldier after soldier as they moved, while the rest of the soldiers in the sanctum were swept up into panic.

Nathaniel ducked backwards, pulling himself into a roll as he made a break for the exit. There was no way that he could climb the rope out. As he sprinted, a soldier turned towards him, but was unable to raise his weapon before Nathaniel twisted his arm back, then shot forward to slam his fist into the soldier's face.

The soldier fell and Nathaniel dropped to pry his rifle out of his hands. But the soldier held on tightly, his eyes frenzied and panicked as he clutched to his only lifeline.

Amidst the screams that echoed loudly through the chamber, Nathaniel heard Drystan's voice from somewhere nearby. "How very like you, to hide amongst the chaos."

Nathaniel grunted. He didn't have the time. He released the soldier and pushed his way forward. Soldiers ran to and fro in panic as they tried to fight off the guardians. But they blended into the dark sanctum well.

Nathaniel turned his head and for a moment, he thought he saw Smith. But then a crowd of soldiers passed by in front of him and by there was a gap large enough to be able to see Smith, he was gone.

He frowned, but shook it off. Smith's business was his own. And after this disaster, he wanted to have as little to do with him as possible. He made to push past more soldiers, but one of them grabbed him by the collar and threw him to the ground.

"You're going- HAGH!" A blade stabbed through his throat, causing the others to look around rapidly for the attacker. It was only when they looked up, at a nearby ledge that they witnessed the guardian leap down upon them.

"Jesus Christ!" Nathaniel cried as the guardian slit the throat of one soldier, resulting in a fountain of blood to gush from his throat.

The guardian looked briefly down at Nathaniel, before seemingly deciding that he was not a problem and ran towards the next closest panicking soldier.

Nathaniel heaved a breath. It was pure chaos! He scrambled back up to his feet, nearly slipping on the bloody puddle left behind by one of the soldiers.

He looked bearily into the crowd of soldiers, and he felt his heart jump into his throat when he saw the barrel of a revolver pointed at him. On the other end of it, Drystan looked at him with a severe expression.

Acting solely on instinct, Nathaniel dropped to his knees just in time for the revolver to fire. It cracked through the air loudly, only adding to the chaos around them. Distantly, Nathaniel thought he heard the bullet collide with someone, but he couldn't be certain.

"I'll show you a disgrace to the profession!" Drystan sneeringly called at him.

"Tell the soldiers to stand down!" Nathaniel called back. He glanced over his shoulder to see a soldier with a bullet lodged in his head, the back of his skull completely blown out. He swallowed. "They'll bring down the temple on top of us!"

He leapt to the side before Drystan could get another shot off and shakily climbed back to his feet. Adrenaline pumped through his veins. Was the exit getting any closer? Further? He didn't know.

"Good! Then we'll both be buried in the rubble of history!" Drystan shouted back.

Nathaniel could almost feel the revolver pointed at his back as he sprinted, and he grabbed a nearby soldier and wheeled them around. Just in time for another gunshot to crack through the air and the soldier that he held onto yelped in pain.

He let go of the soldier, who fell forward, and pushed desperately through the crowd. Through the gaps, he saw as Maddox danced out of the way of a guardian's blade, and she very quickly raised her pistol and sent a bullet through his head in return.

"Out of my way!" Drystan demanded as he shoved past the crowd.

Maybe if he kept moving, if he kept one of the soldiers between him and Drystan, he would never get a clean shot off on him. He could scarcely think. He could only just act.

"I need that crown, Blake!" Drystan shouted. Another shot and Nathaniel's heart spiked. But there was no pain of an impact, and he heard someone behind him collapse. "It's my only way home! Don't ruin this!"

Fuck it, Nathaniel thought. He spun around and hammered his elbow into the face of the nearest soldier. Then, just as quick, he put his hands on his rifle and pulled it away.

As he did so, he swore that he caught another glimpse of Smith near one of the walls. What was he doing? There was no time to question it. He turned in the direction of Drystan and raised the rifle…but it was too late.

Drystan reached him just before Nathaniel could pull the trigger, and he saw before he felt Drystan's fist connect with his own face.

Pain coursed through him and he tumbled backward through the crowd. His nose split in pain and Nathaniel wondered if it had been broken. When he looked up, the barrel of a revolver was pointed between his eyes. Nathaniel didn't think he would be able to move quick enough to avoid it, this time.

"That's what's brought you here today. You're addicted to this life," Drystan said.

"Same as you!" Nathaniel responded. He heard what sounded like a crack and his eyes darted at where he had last spotted Smith. But he was gone. The wall where he had once been, however, splintered apart slowly.

The temple was going to collapse!

Drystan sneered at Nathaniel, whose eyes went back to the revolver. He was certain that his fear was plastered across his face.

"You don't wanna do this," Nathaniel said. The wall began to crumble bit by bit. In a few seconds, the entire thing would come down. What did you do, Smith?

"Don't I?" Drystan asked. "This is my only way home! Give me that crown!"

Nathaniel grimaced and he opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. His gaze was glued to the wall and Drystan, ever so slowly, turned to see what he was looking at.

One of the pillars collapsed and Nathaniel watched as before his eyes, debris started to fall from the ceiling. And right in the center of it, was Maddox. A piece of debris fell from the ceiling towards her, and she slid out of the way just before it hit her.

Behind her, a loose pipe broke and fell, rupturing into two pieces. One fell to the ground and the other was attached to a slab of stone. It hung from the ceiling precariously.

"Ah!" Maddox cried, dancing out of the way of another piece of fallen debris. She raised a leg to make her escape, but the attack of a guardian, knife raised, stopped her.

She raised her pistol, but the guardian made a slashing motion with his knife and cut across the back of her gloved hand. She shouted in pain, the pistol dropping from her grip. But then she let out a single laugh of what sounded like amusement.

The guardian circled her, with seemingly no care in the world for the debris that crashed around them. He narrowed his eyes at Maddox, who's grin split her face. The guardian made his attack at the same time that the ceiling shifted.

Maddox danced backwards - right into the way of the broken pipe. It pierced through the back of her skull so suddenly and violently that she had no time to react. The rumble of the temple rammed the pipe deeper into her head and Maddox's limbs dropped.

But she didn't fall.

She hung in place, with the pipe propping her up by the skull. By all means, she still stood. Maddox's body shook once. A final death rattle before she fell completely still.

"Carys!" Drystan shouted in horror. He couldn't believe his eyes. Above him, the temple shook. Dust and gravel poured out of the crevices from the stone. It would completely collapse shortly. He looked at Maddox's corpse and took in her final expression of something akin to glee.

Drystan pulled his attention away from Maddox back to where Nathaniel was. Only, Nathaniel was no longer there. How had this operation gone so bad so fast? He cast one more look at Maddox's corpse, and made a run for the exit.

Tears, from a combination of deep frustration, rage and sorrow, fell free down his face. In a singular, spectacularly horrific moment, everything came apart for him. He lost his closest friend, confidant, his constant companion in all the things that went wrong in his life, she gave him hope.

He was not in love with her, not romantically, and anyone with brains could tell that. Yet, they held a mutual admiration for each other's abilities and goals. And in just a single careless, chaotic moment, she too was taken from him.

That bastard Nathaniel had escaped, and he had the crown with him!

As he slid on the last step, his hands reached out to grasp the hard floor, and turned his head to the left, where not fifty feet away, the Heavenly Guard were being pushed back by the rebels, who were gaining the weapons of their tormentors with each soldier they felled. Their rage and the mob mentality meant they were quite heedless of their own mounting losses as they pressed forward, eager to shed blood.

Whoever survived the collapse of the dig site were now fleeing every which way once they emerged from below, every man or woman for themselves.

With that in mind, Drystan made for his tent. So long as the Heavenly Guard didn't completely break, and with Kwai returning to his men's side to try organizing whatever was left, it would buy him time to arrange his escape.

As much as Sun Po provided resources, Drystan wasn't foolish enough to rely entirely on his generosity, and had already arranged a few escape routes beforehand.

Taking a few breaths, he tried to gather himself before organizing his thoughts. There was no time, and he couldn't trust Kwai not to try killing him himself, after Maddox's mind games. The thought of Maddox nearly sent him into a spiral again, but he tried telling himself that Maddox would chide him endlessly if he let himself fall apart now.

There would be time for that later.

"Doctor," someone said and Drystan turned around quickly. The Russians had joined him. They looked far worse for wear. Just behind them was one of the Heavenly Guard. A soldier with aviators and bandana. The speaker, Genrikh, gazed at Drystan with steely eyes. "We need to leave," he said.

Drystan turned away again. He scanned the tent for his boxes of valuables, but came up empty. "Where are the valuables?" he asked.

"They've been moved to the West Gate in preparation of your departure," Genrikh told him.

"Where is Dr. Maddox?" Elena asked.

"Dead," Drystan said as he turned back around. He retrieved the satellite phone in his vest which was hanging over a chair. Without pausing to hear Elena's reaction, he dialed the number he'd memorized and waited.

After five rings, there was an answer, and a man said in an expectant voice, "Location, name and destination."

"Purro Herzt, Owen Drystan," he replied curtly, "the nearest smuggler airfield."

"Will you be alone?"

No, he wished he could say. "Yes."

"Who do I look for?"

"Trust me, I'm the only Caucasian man around here. Meet me outside the village at the West Gate. Get here fast."

He didn't wait for a reply and hung up. He'd already arranged for payment and the transit. All he had to do was get himself there. Cursing Nathaniel for the umpteenth time, he wished he had the crown. He and Maddox had been so close!

"Burn this tent to the ground," he ordered Genrikh as he quickly brushed past him. "I want no record of me ever being here."

"Doctor?" Genrikh questioned.

"Let's face it, those slaves are going to push back the Heavenly Guard. And when they do, they're going to find this place. I want no proof to be left behind of my presence, do I make myself clear?"

The Russians stood at attention. "Yes, Doctor," the four said in synchronization.

Drystan sighed. A strand of his red-white hair fell in front of his face and he quickly pushed it away. As he passed the Heavenly Guard soldier, he ordered, "You're with me."

The soldier didn't say anything. He merely turned to follow after Drystan. He tried to ignore the gunfire as the slaves fought off their captors, spilling into the dig site as they did so. Khandanyang was a mistake. They never should have come here.

The streets became more and more empty the further that he walked. What was once filled with military vehicles and patrolling Heavenly Guard was now empty. How much longer did they have until the revolt spread further through the village? Drystan doubted that it would be long.

His frustration mounted. "It was supposed to be an extraction project," he said to himself and the soldier at his back. "No one was supposed to get hurt!" he lamented.

But what did you expect? Drystan thought to himself. You're dealing with Khandanyang. With the FSB.

The entire project had gone up in flames. Everything done in the Amazon was an utter waste. Maddox had died for nothing.

No, not nothing, Drystan told himself. I still have a way home.

He just needed the valuables loaded into the vehicle that would take him out of here. Far away from here. Then, all he had to do was sell them. And who wouldn't take it? People were less inclined to ask questions at the possibility of profit.

Drystan stopped as he reached a bridge. One made of simple cobblestone. It was almost humble. But it wasn't the sight that made him stop. He looked down over the side of the bridge where he saw hundreds of corpses.

Dead villagers. The ones that didn't comply. The Heavenly Guard had transformed the pit at the base of the bridge into a mass grave. Easier than digging one, Drystan supposed.

He approached the side of the bridge and looked over the side of the wall. It rose up to the the center of his torso. There were stains of blood on the stone. Where Drystan was certain the soldiers either executed people or dragged their corpses to throw over.

What a miserable end, Drystan thought. Each corpse below had an expression of either fear, hate, or acceptance. The very last thing they would ever express before their dying moments.

Drystan started to lean when he saw the hands on either side of his peripherals. He had no time to realize what was happening before a thin wire looped over his head before a sharp pain cut into the skin around his throat.

The fibre wire tightened around the back of his neck and pulled him taut against the strong figure holding him. Blood leaked out and Drystan's thoughts went wild, for a moment, thinking Nathaniel had come to kill him, but panic then took over as he tried everything to get free, to no avail.

He could not cry out, not even gasp as the wire dug deep, strangling and cutting through. His flailing arms couldn't reach anything, let alone the person firmly tightening the wire until his eyes bulged, then rolled back into his head as he felt his life end so mercilessly.

"Well done, 47," Diana said through the earpiece. "That's all objectives completed. Now, time to find an exit."

47 looked around as he slackened his hold on the corpse, which listlessly slid to the floor almost like jelly.

He took hold of Drystan's legs, then positioned his arm at the base of Drystan's back. 47 swiftly hauled Drystan up to the ledge of the bridge, before he unceremoniously dumped the corpse over side.

The corpse joined the rest of the pile. The pinstripe suit of Drystan immediately stained crimson from the blood of the villagers. When the revolt spread and they went through their dead, Drystan would be found among them. 47 suspected that they would dismiss the death to be on the part of the Heavenly Guard for failing in his task to retrieve the crown.

47 discarded his disguise, tossing it into the pile below. When he was done, he adjusted his tie, and made his way towards where he knew Drystan's driver was.

As he arrived, he found a truck parked with its back open. Beside it were crates filled with the valuables Drystan had sought. No one had bothered to fill the truck with it.

47 walked to the passenger seat and looked through the window at the man inside. A Eurasian man, who observed 47 with a neutral expression, reached over and wound the window down.

"Owen Drystan," 47 said when the glass reached the bottom.

Nodding, he gestured with his head to the back of the vehicle, where the crates were.

47 ignored him and opened the door to sit in the passenger seat.

The man looked at him in bewilderment. "Your crates?"

"Leave them," 47 said.

The man shrugged. Without a word, he started the truck up and began to drive off. As he did so, the sound of violence became audible as it came ever closer. But the man kept quiet. Clearly used to situations like this.

"Well done, 47," Diana complimented. "I'll wire the money to your account.

47 did not reply, instead, he felt the crown that was hidden under his jacket like it bore the weight of the world.

---

SLAVE REVOLT IN KHANDANYANG

Could we be seeing the end of the Po regime?

The world is watching. What once started off as a revolt in one of Khandanyang's less fortunate provinces has since spread throughout the western territories of the country.

The use of Khandanyang's slave labor has received international condemnation, and has sowed resentment from all across the world. Following the Khandanyang War of the 1960s, and the sanctions placed on the nation, Khandanyang has resorted to forced labor in order to complete their projects.

Now, it seems, that resentment amongst the populace has built up to a crescendo, resulting in Khandanyang being split in two. The slave revolt has announced few, but important demands. The one most prominently featured are the demands of freedom for all slaves, and equal rights for all.

While the Khandanyang government has remained mostly quiet, they have reportedly not ruled out the possibility of military intervention. According to insiders, the most vocal proponent being Colonel Lhom Kwai.

Currently, however, the dictator known as Sun Po, has sent his daughter and the Crown Princess, Min Po, to negotiate with the face of the revolt, Han Luan.

Meanwhile, Luan has quite publicly revealed to reporters willing to cross over into Khandanyang to show to the world the horror that the military, frequently known as the Heavenly Guard, has wrought upon the citizens. Luan, a former slave himself, showed news crews of mass graves in the local village of Purro Herzt. He revealed that the village became an archaeological dig site that soon collapsed.

A temple found beneath the village was allegedly the resting place of the crown of the first king of Khandanyang, Yuangdi Khan.

Miraculously, according to Luan, there was only a single death caused by the collapse of the temple; one of the archaeologists working with the Khandanyang. Dr. Carys Maddox.

Dr. Maddox and her partner, Dr. Owen Drystan, were once world renowned archaeologists, if with a history of unethical practices. For reasons unknown, they worked under Sun Po to dig up the temple hidden beneath Purro Herzt.

Unfortunately for them, the crown was not to be found. And when the Heavenly Guard fought against the revolting slaves, the temple collapsed, which resulted in the death of Dr. Maddox.

Dr. Drystan's corpse was found among the dead in a mass grave. Following his failure to obtain the crown for Sun Po, he was executed and left with the rest of the unfortunate.

Han Luan attributes the arrival of Maddox and Drystan as the root cause of the slave revolt. He has expressed doubts that without their presence, the revolt wouldn't be as successful as it has been.

Although there is a tense ceasefire between the slaves and the Khandanyang government, much of the international community worries that we are seeing the beginnings of a civil war…

EX-PRIME MINISTER VANISHES!

The United Kingdom is in shock and concern as former Prime Minister, Adelaide Vale, has vanished from her home in London. This revelation comes after Vale failed to arrive in court in a hearing against her in regards to her misuse of classified files.

In the lead-up to her trial, Vale continually pointed the finger at General Sidney Birch in an attempt to blame him for her misappropriation of documents. Time and time again, Birch denied these accusations. And following her vote of no confidence, Vale reportedly warned of Birch's links to people in high places, with little awareness this includes herself.

Following the announcement of a trial for national espionage and potential ties to a regicide attempt on the royal family, protestors massed outside Vale's home, with many calling for her immediate arrest and condemnation. However, on the day of Vale's hearing, with crowds, reporters and police surrounding her residence, witnesses were stunned when she did not exit her home. Officers and emergency personnel had broken into the house in the afternoon, and found the home unoccupied.

Further investigation concluded and confirmed by NCA revealed that Vale had fled the country. The revelation sowed confusion amongst the masses, with many independent entities endeavouring to conduct investigations as to where Vale had fled to.

This marks the first time that a British Prime Minister has ever been issued a warrant for their arrest.

Vale's successor, Prime Minister Chester Ingram, has stoked the flames and whipped the people into a frenzy. He has vowed to have Vale captured, and has set his ambition as among his most important policies.

The British government has effectively declared war on Adelaide Vale…

GHOSTLY SPEAKS OUT!

Infamous YouTuber, Clancy Zobrist, known by his online username of 'Ghostly', has spoken out about Mo Chae-young's true colors being shown at the end of the SSF world tour.

Ghostly, a young Australian man, has gained infamy for his style of content and conflicts with fellow YouTubers. While once starting off as mostly a gaming influencer, mixed occasionally with commentary, Ghostly slowly evolved his brand.

Frequently associated with cyberbullying, Ghostly has done nothing to refute the claims and has been the topic of much commentary and controversy on the platform.

During his most recent podcast with his friends, Ghostly proclaimed, 'I always knew there was something wrong with her. And look at me now! I was right!' This follows the stream of hate Ghostly received after beginning an online campaign against Mo.

While his campaign of hate started at first off of a dislike for SSF's music, Ghostly targeted Mo specifically after she refused to respond to his private messages. The contents of those messages, Ghostly has never disclosed.

Ghostly went on to indicate how he had known Mo was fake, but hadn't anticipated how fake she was. This is then followed-up by Ghostly referring to Mo by a slur and declaring that he is glad that she is dead.

The remains of Mo's fan base, though there are few, have taken to brigading Ghostly's social media, to which he sent a post saying, 'Keep crying! I love the salt!'...

---

Massachusetts, United States

Victoria's eyes snapped open at the sudden sound of audience laughter and she sharply turned her head to see her roommate, Lizzie McDunnough, laughing along at a joke the comedian on their TV was regaling.

Noticing Victoria's movement, Lizzie turned to look at her.

"Seriously? You nodded off?" Lizzie asked, then rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Only you, Victoria Bateson…"

"Sorry," Victoria said, propping her head up with her palm, elbow resting against her pillow. "I guess comedy's not really my thing."

While she was slowly adjusting to normal civilian life, she still missed a lot of social cues, and unfortunately, the comedian on TV was reliant on people already understanding all the social norms of the world, for which Victoria was woefully underequipped.

This ignored the fact that the night before she spent almost two hours past her bedtime. All to talk to her personal contact to verify the letter she'd received from the mysterious David Voltaire. Him and his Archangel University.

To her relief, it didn't seem suspicious at all. And her getting noticed was chalked up to her very good grades. Excellent, according to her teachers. David Voltaire headhunts potential bright students from all over the world, and he, at the very least, has a visible online presence and wasn't some mysterious shady figure.

Victoria could tell the comedian was reaching another punchline. She could tell that, but she couldn't feel any mirth, because she literally didn't understand why it was so funny.

So far, she'd only started trying to build an understanding of pop culture. She got some references thanks to the films and shows she watched with Diana, but where most people had been exposed to such from infancy, Victoria officially started in her late teens.

Lizzie burst out laughing at the punchline delivery even falling back on her pillows clutching her belly.

It must have been really funny.

"I swear, Victoria, you must've been grown in a lab or something," Lizzie said.

Victoria tried not to stiffen and reminded herself Lizzie was just using pop culture references again. It's what virtually everyone did. Even and perhaps especially Bug.

"You need to tell Bug to up your film intake," Lizzie continued, unknowingly reading Victoria's mind. "Clearly he hasn't shown you enough. Or has he got you stuck on Discovery Channel or something?"

"Or something," Victoria muttered as she sat up, the entertainment segment was ending and the credits reel was showing.

"You wanna go get the new chocolate cake shakes they're serving at the café?" Lizzie asked, "I hear they're going fast."

"They are," Victoria agreed, "and every girl on campus is shopping for larger waist sizes."

"HA! Bet!" Lizzie replied, "But not you and I. You are physically incapable of becoming fat, and I have my superior metabolism."

Lizzie stood up and struck her heroic pose, fists planted on her very slender waist.

"I suppose," Victoria conceded, trying not to think on how often Lizzie unknowingly triggered memories of her past, and the fact she was a genetically enhanced human.

The newsreel began playing and Lizzie was about to switch the channel when she noticed Victoria watching it with keen interest and so dropped her hand, settling back down on her bed.

The first bits of news were local, then national, but finally, when they came to the international news, Victoria actually squeaked in shock when they talked about the deaths of Owen Drystan and Carys Maddox in Khandanyang.

How did they even get in there!?

They were going to be teaching in Cameroon!

Her idols. Gone, just like that.

"Hey, Vict-...oh gosh…they were, weren't they?" Lizzie asked as she glanced at Victoria's shocked expression.

Lizzie knew of course, since Victoria let her read the letter.

"I...I need to get some air…" Victoria got up and opened the door, pausing at the threshold. "I'll...meet you in the café...get me a chocolate cake shake...get me two…please."

"Sure thing," Lizzie answered, but Victoria was already marching through the corridor at a fast pace.

She wove through the corridors with familiar ease, finding her way outside. She left in such a hurry she hadn't put on even a scarf as she felt the cold of the evening of fall season biting into her. At least she had on her sweater and jeans.

She hadn't yet considered whether she would be going, but learning under Drystan and Maddox was very much a big lure for her, and that led to her curiosity as to how and why they died. But then again, Khandanyang was quite possibly one of the deadliest places in the world to be in. It wasn't a stretch to believe they'd run afoul of something or other while there.

So preoccupied was she, that she failed to notice she was right in a man's path until she bumped into him.

Victoria stumbled back and caught herself easily. She heard something clatter to the ground and realized, belatedly, that it was her phone. She looked up at the man across from her who put a hand on the side of the building to catch himself.

He was a middle-aged man, with square glasses perched on his nose. Brown hair parted down the middle, as though it had been combed. He had a cleft chin and wrinkles around his mouth. Victoria wondered if he was a teacher she hadn't seen before. Or an older student?

"Sorry," Victoria apologized. She held up a hand to help steady the stranger, but it was clear he didn't need it.

"It's no issue," the stranger replied. He bent down to pick up Victoria's phone. "Just keep an eye on where you're going."

"Sorry," Victoria said again. "I just…" She shook her head. "Never mind. It won't happen again, sir."

The stranger offered her a smile. He held out the phone to her. "I'm certain it won't. You seem like a C."

Victoria shrugged slightly before she took her phone. She tried to hide the hurt that she felt at the words of a stranger. "My grades are fine." She paused. To hell with it. "Actually, they're excellent."

"Are they?" the stranger asked. "That is always good to hear. I'll be seeing you around," he said, and he walked past Victoria without looking back at her.

Victoria watched the stranger's back before she turned around and continued on her way.

---

Moscow, Russia

Seriozhenka Yagoda could see the air frost with his every breath. He pulled his coat tighter against himself and made his way up the steps to the front door of his house. He dug his hand into his pocket to produce the key.

Bureaucracy, Yagoda sneered to himself. What a waste of time. There were so many things he could have been doing. Usually, he had plenty of time and resources to himself. But the president was adamant in looking deeper into the circumstances that Khandanyang found themselves in.

Yagoda saw no need in mentioning that he was already certain of the cause.

As he reached his front door, he slotted his key into place, and twisted. He opened the door and entered. Immediately, he warmed up.

"Ah," Yagoda hummed to himself. He pulled his coat off and hung it on a hanger. He walked through his house, deciding to take the scenic route to his office.

Yagoda smiled at the glass cases of artifacts as he passed them. Each of them with a plaque special for which artifact they were. He was certain- no, beyond certain that these objects held powers on the fringe of his understanding. Because Yagoda refused to believe that he had done this for nothing.

He stopped at his Yuangdi Khan collection. The shroud of Yuangdi Khan. Allegedly worn on the day of his death. Imbued with the power that Yuangdi Khan surely possessed. Then, the mantle, worn by him on his coronation. When the nation of what became Khandanyang first became a kingdom. Finally, the sceptre. Wielded by him at all times. Unimaginable power that Yagoda himself could use.

If only he could figure out how to use them.

His eyes trailed to the empty case that he had most recently prepared. The crown of Yuangdi Khan. Except…

Yagoda scowled. What an absolute mess. He had sent six agents to Khandanyang and only five of them returned. One of them having undergone intense interrogation by the others. Someone had impersonated Valery - or as the agents referred to him, Apokalipsis.

Yagoda moved away from the cases. He buried his fury down in his chest. He would get the crown back. According to legend, whoever united the missing pieces of Yuangdi Khan's relics, would become the heir to the throne.

He reached his office and pushed the door open. But then he froze. For there was a man sitting in his chair. A middle-aged man with dark hair and dark eyes. He had a round face with sunken cheeks and thin lips.

"Decembrist," the man greeted. He held a silenced pistol in one hand, and in the other was a large black box.

Yagoda took in the situation. Almost no one knew that Seriozhenka Yagoda and the Decembrist were the same person. The only exception was the president.

"Did Fyodor send you?" Yagoda asked as he stepped into his office. There was no point in trying to run. He would be caught up to sooner or later. And he wasn't as young as he once was.

"No," the man said as Yagoda sat down in his most comfortable chair.

"Then I find it unfair that I don't know the identity of the man who is here to kill me," Yagoda said as he made himself comfortable. If he was going to die, it would be in comfort.

The man pulled his pistol away. "This is for you," he said, placing the box on the desk gently. He ignored Yagoda's question entirely. "Goodbye, Mr. Yagoda," he said.

And then he left. Yagoda stared in confusion. But slowly, he stood and made his way to the box that the man left behind. If he had wanted Yagoda dead, he would have shot him. There was no reason to think that the box was trapped in any way.

But despite that knowledge, Yagoda found himself opening the box with hesitancy. That hesitancy, however, gave way to glee as he found in the box none other than the crown of Yuangdi Khan.